


That Big Fat Greek Wedding

by carmenta



Series: Young, Hot and Royal [7]
Category: Royalty RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 08:30:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/pseuds/carmenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of love for Luxembourgian hereditary grand dukes, friendship with Swedish princes, eternal enmity with Russian tsesarevichs, and condoms for breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Big Fat Greek Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is real person slash. I want to stress that this is a work of fiction and that all portrayals of real persons are completely fictional interpretations with no relation to reality. I claim no insight into their lives or characters. All future events portrayed in the story are, of course, purely fictional; past events on public record have been used where fitting the story and have been fictionalized accordingly. I intend no harm or insult with this story; no profit is being made.
> 
> To sum it up: this is amateur fiction, not clairvoyance. I'm making this up.
> 
> All real persons obviously belong to themselves, the original characters belong to autumn_belias and me, and yes, it's fiction, totally fiction.

***  
August 2010  
***

As royal weddings went, there were three kinds: dignified, charming, and Greek. 

In the opinion of His Imperial and Royal Highness Prince Amedeo Marie Joseph Carl Pierre Philippe Paola Marcus d'Aviano of Belgium, Archduke of Austria-Este, Prince Imperial of Austria, Prince Royal of Hungary and Bohemia, et cetera, et cetera, the Greek ones were by far the best. At all the dignified weddings you were required to wear an endless array of formal clothes, everything down to and including your underwear dictated by protocol. The charming ones were slightly better, but they were the ones where you had to make sure you didn't let your guard down so far that you ended up half engaged to some entrepreneurial princess just because you'd flirted a bit. 

Amedeo was fairly sure that Princess Beatrice had gotten the message by now and was not counting on him to ask for her hand in marriage. He'd also decided not to set foot in England for a while, just in case Buckingham Palace was only waiting to pounce.

No, the Greek weddings were by far the best. The first one Amedeo had been allowed to attend, at the impressive - and impressionable - age of nine, had been that of Crown Prince Pavlos, which had started out as dignified but had rapidly gone the way of all Greek weddings, which meant it had ended with Queen Margrethe of Denmark dancing barefoot in the ornate fountain at four in the morning and Amedeo had raced radio-controlled cars with Carl Philip of Sweden, even though he'd never managed to quite get that tricky left-hand corner around the wedding cake. Fortunately, the Duke of Edinburgh, sitting nearby, had surreptitiously helped stranded imperial and royal cars along so there'd never been a need to concede to Bernadotte racing superiority.

Then there had been the wedding of Princess Alexia, where Amedeo had already been much older, much wiser and, most importantly, permitted to sit at the main table with the proper wedding guests. He'd had Guillaume as his companion that day and it had been absolutely perfect, especially once the Greek-inspired insanity had broken loose. As an after-effect, his parents had been in no shape to protest when he'd stuck to his friend's side for the rest of the time, too, even though that had meant following him like a lost duckling to a reception at the Luxembourgian embassy.

The Greek insanity looked inevitable this time as well. There had already been the pre-wedding party yesterday evening: usually a dour, dry affair with the bride and groom far too nervous to let anyone have fun. Amedeo had approached it with some trepidation until he'd figured out that this wasn't going to be a white tie affair but that jeans were absolutely acceptable, that it was held not in a formal setting but in a Greek tavern, and that all the representing in the name of his parents and Belgium he was supposed to do was essentially limited to not letting anyone drink him under the table.

Amedeo thoroughly approved and had done his best, even though the hangover this morning hadn't been much fun. 

The wedding itself didn't disappoint either, and while this was a suit-and-tie affair, it was still a suit-and-tie affair on a Greek island in the middle of summer, and once the bridesmaids in their flimsy mermaid dresses had everyone's attention and the press photographers were gone, the dress code went right out the window. 

"I thought you'd run off to join the circus?" Carl asked, falling into step by his side. They were on the way back to the tavern again, now that the wedding was over; it seemed the Greeks weren't even going to try and make this a formal sitting-down dinner. 

"I'm still practicing my lion-taming technique," Amedeo told him. "But I'm getting there. I've been in New York for over a year now and they haven't managed to drag me back yet."

There was something almost wistful about Carl at that, a working royal contemplating the idea of life without the permanent pressure of titles, duties and connections. Amedeo knew that he'd repeat his own choice in that matter again immediately if it ever became an issue; there was nothing that could make him voluntarily go back to having Prince as a job title. Dealing with being the de-facto heir to Philippe for the first fifteen years of his life had been more than enough - he intended to stay as far away from crowns and royal duties as possible for the rest of his life.

"They've enlisted you for this, though," Carl pointed out. "Don't tell me attending a royal wedding was your own idea. Not even a Greek one."

"Would you believe me if I claimed that the idea of olives and feta cheese in a wedding dinner was irresistible?" 

"No."

Amedeo winked at him. "In that case, I'll admit that it's a deal with my parents. They get to use me for one low-profile royal appointment every year so they can tell themselves I'm not losing my touch, and in exchange they leave me in peace for the rest of the time."

It was the sort of arrangement he could live with. His parents might not understand his refusal to live up to his title and birthright, but for now they accepted it. Their match-making efforts, too, were still subtle enough that he could ignore them and pretend he didn't notice the occasional eminently acceptable Catholic princesses who urgently needed a friendly face to meet them in New York.

("If I didn't know it's all pretence, I'd be worried about their chances at survival in the real world," he'd told Madeleine of Sweden - a Protestant princess and therefore ineligible and safe - when they'd run into each other on a flight once. "I'm really not sure what I'm supposed to do with them."

Madeleine had given him the sort of indulgent smile he usually reserved for his own younger siblings. "Do I have to draw you a picture?"

Amedeo would, in fact, not have objected to any picture-drawing done by this particular princess, but he didn't want to ruin his chances at future companionable coffee dates with someone who hadn't been pointed out to him as a potential wife. There were always other options to scratch that particular itch if he really felt like it.)

"I'm still hoping everybody's going to forget about me," he said as he and Carl slowed their steps so they wouldn't overtake the row of crown princesses and princes ahead of them. 

"You're on those lists of royal bachelors," Carl pointed out. 

Amedeo rolled his eyes. "Along with people like you or William. As if anyone's going to notice me in such illustrious company." He smirked. "They don't even have a picture of me that's not two years out of date, nobody's going to recognise me even if they see me. Perfect, if you ask me."

Grinning, Carl reached up to companionably punch his shoulder. Ahead of them, Victoria turned around to see what her brother was up to, received an innocent wave she didn't seem fooled by in the least, and dropped back to walk with the two of them.

"Don't tell me you're beating up your little cousin," she said, her stern expression ruined by the twinkle in her eyes.

Carl gave her an innocent look. "Of course not, I'd never do that. I'm keeping an eye on him so nothing untoward happens to him."

By his side, Amedeo happily nodded in agreement. It wasn't even a lie; the Danish Crown Princess had snarled at him earlier for accidentally standing too close to her, fierce enough to make him beat a hasty retreat. The Swedes felt far safer in comparison.

Victoria nodded. "That's not even a bad idea. It _is_ a Greek wedding, after all."

A few hours later, Amedeo was ready to admit that she might just have had a point there. Royal weddings never were the most dignified affairs once the press was gone. They were family parties, and hardly anyone could be bothered to be stiff and regal when it was a prime opportunity to catch up with everyone and let your hair down for a little while until you had to go and be properly majestic again in the morning. 

This one was no exception to the rule, and the casual atmosphere was helped along with plenty of wine and ouzo to accompany the general gossiping. When practically every member of a royal house present was your cousin to some degree, it was easy to stay away from any and all official topics and stick with more casual affairs, even though it also meant that Amedeo collected far too many pats to the cheek from elderly relatives who hadn't seen him for a while.

It was a shame the Luxembourgian court hadn't dispatched any representatives. Amedeo had secretly hoped that Guillaume would be here for the wedding; it would have been the perfect chance to spend some time with his friend. There had been far too few chances for that over the past two years, with Amedeo busy first with his studies and then his work, and Guillaume assuming the full duties of heir apparent to the Luxembourgian grand ducal throne. 

Amedeo missed spending time with him. Guillaume had been a fixture in his life for almost as long as he could remember, always ready to let him tag along, always reliable and responsible and kind despite the age gap between them. Those five years mattered a lot less now than they had in childhood, and while Amedeo still would have cheerfully splashed about in the mud with Guillaume just to see his always proper appearance rumpled a bit, they had moved on to more intellectual pursuits by now. And besides, Amedeo could imagine a whole lot of other ways to get Guillaume rumpled these days. 

Imagining it was all that was safe, though, with an heir to a throne who was expected to conform to tradition and have a wife and children. Anything more than occasional idle thoughts were just a recipe for heartbreak, so Amedeo did his best to stay away from that road, with middling success.

"Still having fun?" Madeleine asked, patting his shoulder before settling down on the free chair by his side. "You looked a bit spooked earlier."

"Just the press," he told her. "I know how to deal with talking freely to fifty businesspeople, but reporters are just weird. But I think it's a good sign that they all were convinced that I'm an English earl." He paused. "Do I look English?"

Madeleine eyed him critically. "Not really. Maybe the floppy hair, and you've still got the proper accent, perhaps that's it. So you're not about to run off?"

"Would you stop me if I gave it a try?"

"I get plenty of practice with Carl where that is concerned. Hanging on to him without letting anyone notice that I'm all that's keeping him from bolting isn't easy, you know?"

He chuckled. "I'd never dream to think it is. But he seems in a good mood today."

Madeleine nodded in agreement. "He is. Has been since Vicky's wedding, too, that removed a huge worry from him. He's been breathing much more easily since then. Now Vicky and Daniel just need to cook up a few babies together, then he'll be more relaxed than ever that he won't actually have to do something about the succession."

Amedeo hummed wordlessly. "Can't fault him for that."

"Of course, you'd know about that, what with Philippe taking his time."

Taking his time indeed; Amedeo had practically given up on his uncle ever marrying, let alone producing children. Four cousins later, he was beginning to feel slightly reassured that he wasn't, in fact, going to end up King of the Belgians one day. It really wasn't the sort of career he'd have picked for himself. 

Neither would most of the royal guests in attendance today, he suspected, but they'd all resigned themselves to their fate. The scions of the deposed monarchies had it easier there, at least they only had to fit their title on their business cards and could leave it at that for the most part. The Greeks were a prime example for that, and Amedeo had spotted a few more ex-majesties among the guests as well. 

"Who's that over there by the column?" he asked as he did a half-interested headcount of titular royalty. He'd probably have to include himself in that number, too; the only real title he had came from his mother, the other fifty or sixty were debatable and not something he even wanted to consider fitting onto a bit of embossed paper.

Madeleine followed the direction of his gaze. "The guy with the fuzzy hair? Andrea Casiraghi." At Amedeo's confused blink, she added, "Monaco, he's the oldest son of Princess Caroline. Another member for your little club of people who're waiting to be rescued from their spot in the line of succession, he's going to have to step up at some point if Albert doesn't figure out where babies come from soon."

"I daresay he knows that," Amedeo drawled. 

"Well, he needs to figure out how to make them in legitimate ways." Madeleine cocked her head. "If you two ever need a topic to commiserate over, that might do the trick. Careful, though, he's got a girlfriend who probably won't want to share."

Amedeo raised an eyebrow in an attempt to hide his startled confusion at the casual comment. He was used to the more relaxed attitude in New York, but the royal circus usually frowned upon even the hint of a lack in heterosexuality. And how Madeleine would even know-

His surprise must have been showing, because she rose up on tiptoe to tousle his hair. "Don't look like that. I've been living in New York for the last year, and I've got excellent gossip connections. You never know when that sort of knowledge might come in handy. But don't worry, it's not like I need to blackmail you for anything at the moment, so you're perfectly safe." She smiled, with far more innocence than should have been possible. "Do you mind if I abandon you? I should catch Andrea's girlfriend and see whether she'll join me for a bit of girl fun next week."

Amedeo was still too startled to do more than nod and blink, the thought buzzing in his head that if his mother ever found out about certain things, she'd probably kill him. Pointing out that there had been a few girlfriends, too, wasn't going to do much to rescue him from her wrath.

"You look like she just bashed you over the head," Philippos said as he came wandering by. "What did she do to you?"

Amedeo blinked again. "Just caught me off guard," he muttered. "I always thought she was nice and harmless."

Philippos snorted. "Nice and harmless? Madeleine? Keep dreaming, she's by far the scariest of the Swedish trio. Vicky is nice as long as you don't get on her wrong side, and Carl's about as kind and friendly as you can get without being a total pushover. Not surprising with those two ladies for sisters. But trust me, Madde is the dangerous one."

"Speaking from experience, are you?"

Philippos shrugged. "My father and hers had it in their minds at one point to see whether they couldn't arrange a marriage," he said with the barest hint of terror in his voice, and Amedeo sympathised immediately at that display of royal tradition. "The second Madde found out, she threatened to disembowel me with one of Carl's spoons."

Amedeo smirked at him. "So when are you going to announce your engagement?" 

That earned him a swat to the head, which he ducked away from, and a punch to the shoulder. "You," Philippos growled, "had better shut up or I'm going to set you up with my sister. And then you'll be sorry."

They both looked across the tavern's terrace to the table by a few pretty oleander bushes, where the esteemed Princess Theodora of Greece and Denmark was currently busy chatting with Carl and Mette-Marit, hands flying as she gestured animatedly. 

"I'll be good," Amedeo promised.

Philippos gave him a searching once-over, then nodded with satisfaction, waved at one of the waiters and said something presumably Greek. A moment later, two highball glasses filled with ice, a pitcher of water and a bottle were placed before them. 

Eyebrows raised, Amedeo watched as Philippos poured them both generous shots. "Planning a repeat of yesterday's performance, are you?"

Philippos waved off. "It's not like I often get to party in Greece, I've got a reputation to maintain."

"Youngest prince, a bit of a wild child who'll get drunk and dance sirtaki until sunrise?"

Philippos grinned. "Don't tell me you wouldn't. It's just that your Belgian beer is less conductive to dancing than ouzo is."

Amedeo raised his glass. "Point taken," he said and took a sip, trying not to wince at the taste of aniseed. National beverages inevitably seemed to be an acquired taste, and he was fairly sure that whatever Greek ancestry he might have was too diluted to compensate. "So, going to turn into Alexis Zorba again tonight?"

Philippos contemplated his ouzo, then knocked back a good bit of it. "Possibly. There are expectations to fulfil, and it's really not a proper wedding unless someone falls into the fish pond dead drunk."

"That's going to be tricky. I don't think there is a fish pond."

"We'll compensate." Philippos topped up their glasses again. "You can help out."

Amedeo took a second to wonder what the press would say to him getting completely and utterly pissed. Not that it would be the first time, but so far there hadn't been photographers around. They all seemed convinced that he was such a nice and proper prince who'd never do something controversial in any way, and he wasn't about to prove them wrong. Life was so much more comfortable when reporters weren't interested in you because you were far too boring and obscure for them to bother.

***

"So, about that fish pond idea you had earlier," Amedeo said, watching in rapt fascination as the Crown Prince of Norway hauled his Danish counterpart out of a water trough by the roadside.

"Looks like a moot point now. Ah well, he probably needed that bit of insanity more than we do, anyway." Philippos raised his glass in a toast, and Amedeo was quick to comply. By now the ouzo didn't taste quite as terrible as before, even though the idea that it might be growing on him was rather disconcerting. "Another family addition on the way for Cousin Fred, in case you haven't heard. Not a planned one, either."

Amedeo shrugged and took a second to find a safe response in his pleasantly buzzed mind. He'd heard the rumours from Denmark, of course; they were hard to avoid even when he'd given it a half-hearted try. "The risk of sleeping with a woman." 

"Yeah, better find yourself another guy, at least then you won't need a pregnancy test afterwards. Far more practical and with no long-term consequences of the baby sort."

Amedeo snorted. "One way of putting it. But good point, that should go on the list of how to be a proper junior royal."

Philippos grinned. "Next round's on me if you go and suggest it."

"Your family's footing the bill for tonight anyway, where's the point?"

"Damn, right, that won't work." Philippos contemplated his almost empty glass. "But we should share that bit of wisdom."

"Don't want to risk a girl getting pregnant, find a guy to shag." Amedeo nodded sagely. "It really should be obvious not just to us."

Philippos shrugged. "Not everybody's as smart and insightful." He cast Amedeo a speculative glance. "You want to?"

It seemed like he'd have to work on appearing properly straight. Right now, though, with just enough ouzo in his system to make such minor cares go away, Amedeo just leaned back in his chair and shot Philippos a lazy grin. "Sure. Your room or mine?"

In the end, proximity was the deciding factor, along with the fact that getting to Amedeo's hotel didn't require a boat trip. Patience, virtue and all that jazz, but there was a time and place and right now Amedeo didn't intend to be virtuous in any way, not when faced with the possibility of handsome, open-minded company for a little while.

The second the door fell shut behind them, he laid claim to Philippos' shirt to tug it free from the waistband of his trousers, seeking skin contact and growling when he encountered another layer. Damned formal get-ups, he thought, but let himself be distracted by a firm, insistent kiss soon enough, his hands flying out in a search for balance when Philippos marched him backwards. He struck the wall with his right hand, the plaster scratching against his wrist, then Philippos was on him and had him stagger another half-step until he was trapped between the cool, smooth wall and a hard, hot body, and not about to complain in the least.

Philippos turned out to be a great kisser, dedicated and fun enough to keep their little encounter safely away from crossing the line into awkward. A moment of gauging the wisdom of it all, then Amedeo threw himself into it wholeheartedly, scrabbling at Philippos' undershirt to get it untucked. This wasn't the smartest thing to do, he knew, but on the other hand, what was going to happen? They both knew they weren't going to breathe a word of this to anyone. As casual shags went, the safest partner in crime was another royal: they wouldn't talk to the press and they weren't after you because of your status. Right now, with his most recent ex _becoming_ an ex after a short time already because she'd been suspiciously interested in family fortunes and royal protocol , Amedeo wasn't in the mood for those kinds of complications just to have a little stress relief.

"Will you stop thinking already!" Philippos growled, his hands settling on Amedeo's back to draw him in, then slid lower still. "Or I'll be insulted."

"Can't have that," Amedeo shot back and leaned in for another thorough kiss, humming with encouragement when Philippos went along with it until they needed to break for air. 

"You've done this before, right?" 

Amedeo arched an eyebrow, managed to put just enough sardonic amusement into his expression, and shoved his hand down Philippos' pants. "I've dabbled."

Philippos gave an appreciative groan and rocked his hips in a blatant attempt at getting Amedeo's hand to move. "Great. Anything I need... mhn, do that again... anything I need to know?"

It threw a wrench into the proceedings, but that probably couldn't be helped. Better safe than sorry, and while Amedeo by now had a fairly good idea how Philippos liked his partying, they both had a lot fewer cues where more intimate details were concerned, and really not the time to go on a slow exploration. 

"Keep the whips and riding crops in the box, the rest's fine," Amedeo murmured, busy trailing a line of biting kisses along the other man's jaw line and down the side of his throat. He could feel the pulse point against his tongue and lingered at that spot, drawn by the strong, quick patter. "You?"

Tilting his head back, Philippos sighed happily, clever hands finding their way under Amedeo's shirt collar and making quick work of the top buttons. "Pity on the whip and riding crop, anything else goes unless you're into really exotic stuff." 

Amedeo bit him in response, hard enough to make him yelp with surprise before giving an appreciative moan, then let himself be distracted when Philippos started to deal with his clothes in earnest. It was a good thing neither of them had bothered to wear a uniform for the occasion; those things were just evil when it came to getting undressed in a hurry. Right now, Amedeo wasn't at all in the mood to be patient and kind to clothes, not with this sort of opportunity presenting itself. 

"Bed," he demanded once they were done, his hand on the bare skin of Philippos' hip to push him back and get him moving. They half stepped, half stumbled the short distance and tumbled down onto the sheets together, laughing and grabbing at each other as they went down. 

"Nice," Philippos growled and rolled them until he had Amedeo pinned beneath him, the firm, warm pressure of his weight in all the right places more than enough to make matters interesting. "Still happy with this?"

Amedeo looked up at him, a wide smirk on his face. "No reason not to be. Trust me, if you do anything I don't like, you'll know. You?"

"Likewise," Philippos assured him, serious for just a moment, and Amedeo really had to give him credit for staying level-headed enough for that. They might know each other, they might trust each other not to get into too much trouble or uncomfortable territory, but that didn't mean either of them had any idea what the other really liked in bed. That sort of thing didn't usually show up on the briefings Amedeo was given by the Belgian royal court whenever they made him deal with foreign royalty.

"Great," he murmured and let his hands settle high on Philippos' back, looking for contact, leverage and a bit more of that delightful friction of skin against skin. "Now get on with it, will you?"

Philippos blinked down at him for a second, then dropped his head, face buried against Amedeo's shoulder as he chuckled helplessly. "Sorry," he managed, then gave a wordless gasp of surprise when Amedeo pushed up and got their positions reversed so Philippos could be treated to a mock glare full of impatience. 

"What?" Amedeo demanded, punctuating the question with a sharp kiss to the dip at the base of his throat. 

"Just remembering a comment I heard today, about you Habsburgs being a bit crazy, and treating beds as ways to conquer other countries."

Amedeo quirked an eyebrow at that. "Much more efficient than the battlefield," he stated. "Much more fun, too, under the right circumstances."

"No argument from me on that," Philippos assured him, rising up to claim his mouth in a kiss again that lingered this time when Amedeo followed him down, all determined and intent on pushing this further. "You can conquer me anytime."

Amedeo treated him to a quick eyeroll at that bit of drama, but didn't bother with a verbal response. Instead he dove in for another kiss, partly to shut Philippos up before he could utter any more nonsense, partly to do a bit of exploring. It was the inevitable disadvantage of indulging a whim like this - that last edge of intimacy was missing that came from familiarity, even when he could feel the other man's cock hardening against his thigh. 

That Philippos knew what to do with hands and lips and tongue and teeth was perfect, just on the edge between too light and too sharp, and he easily let himself be pushed back into the sheets so Amedeo could explore. The enticing scent of spicy aftershave teased at his nose and he tried an experimental lick along Philippos' collarbone, grinning against the smooth skin when that drew a loud moan from the other man. 

"Condoms?" Philippos murmured.

Amedeo roused enough to shake his head, though it took a moment to focus on anything but those clever hands. "Sorry, they dispatched me here to do a bit of representing. Not to shag the brother of the groom."

"What a terrible oversight. However are we going to entertain ourselves?"

"I've got a few ideas for that."

Philippos grinned at him. "I bet you do," he said, and didn't protest in the least at being dragged down again.

There wasn't much time for finesse after that; they both were too impatient and not quite sober enough to bother. This wasn't about anything drawn-out, this was about a bit of fun and not much beyond that. Philippos all deliciously heavy against him was what mattered right now, and Amedeo didn't care about much beyond the immediate sensations. It was far more interesting to arch up into him and feel that buck of Philippos' hips in response, hot and just on the edge between deliberate and desperate. Perfectly tempting, but not nearly as much as he'd have liked; he slid his hand down until he had a firm grip on Philippos' arse to try and drag him closer. 

"Should have known you'd be grabby," Philippos teased, his words half swallowed by a breathless chuckle. 

Amedeo treated him to his best innocent look. "Who, me?" he asked, then had his pretense ruined when Philippos did a bit of groping too and soon had him moaning with appreciation. "Absolutely... absolutely harmless. Ask anyone you want."

"As if they'd have any idea," Philippos murmured. "Besides, I've got much better things to do right now."

"Do you, now?" Amedeo asked, the words punctuated by a shove to Philippos' shoulder to get him to shift off a bit so they had more room to touch. "What would that be?"

Practical demonstrations always were best, he hazily thought a minute later, his face buried against Philippos' shoulder as they both rocked against each other, looking for that blend of leverage and friction and heat. Not enough, just yet, so he thrust his hand down between them and wrapped his fingers around Philippos' cock, relishing that immediate shiver in response and the firm strokes in return, confident at first but more and more erratic, until Philippos pressed his mouth against Amedeo's neck with a groan, his body going taut. A few more breaths, Philippos shuddering against him, and Amedeo tumbled over the edge as well.

They lay there panting for a minute, Philippos still half on top of him. "Really not harmless," Philippos said, his voice raspy. "Bloody hell."

Amedeo managed a breathy laugh. "I'll take that as a compliment." 

"You'd better." Patting his shoulder, Philippos rolled off him, settling into the cushions with a contented groan. "We should have done this yesterday already."

Turning his head, Amedeo shot him a smirk. "You were too busy getting drunk and dancing on tables yesterday."

"Would have been an alternative worth considering if I'd known you're easy," Philippos said, then yelped when Amedeo elbowed him in the side. "What?"

"You'll make me regret I didn't insist on proper courting before letting you ravish me."

The expression on Philippos' face hovered somewhere between amused and incredulous. "Who ravished whom here? I've got the hickeys to prove that it wasn't me who did any of that. What do you want me to do, propose marriage?"

Amedeo chuckled and shifted into a lazy stretch, his limbs still heavy with satisfaction. "As if. A gay royal wedding? Not in our generation." And what a shame that was, but he knew too well to permit himself more than the occasional wishful thought on the matter. 

Philippos watched him in a way that was suddenly far too shrewd. "Not with me, at any rate?"

He shrugged, trying not to dwell on the impossibilities of it all. "I'd never get permission. You're not heir to anything. If you want me, you'll have to bring at least a duchy into the marriage." He rolled onto his side and reached out to tousle Philippos' hair and distract him. "You know my house's got standards where those things are concerned."

"That's one way of putting it," Philippos said amiably, ducking his head in an attempt to get away. "So we'll have to limit ourselves to a wild affair."

Amedeo quirked an eyebrow. "I don't know about wild..."

"Whatever else was that earlier?" 

"I'm sure we can do better, just-" A yawn crept up on him at that, and he could feel the long day and the night's pleasant activities settle into his muscles. "Tomorrow?"

Philippos nodded in easy agreement. "Sounds like a plan."

Pushing himself up to his feet, Amedeo padded into the bathroom, not turning on any additional lights as he cleaned himself up. A low whistle, then he tossed a second damp towel over at the bed, grinning when the surprised yelp confirmed that he hadn't missed his target. Another minute to have a glass of water and pour a second one for his bedmate, then he returned to the main room. 

"Staring at my arse, are you?" he asked as he dropped down into the sheets again, not bothering with clothes. Philippos was hardly going to complain about that now, and besides it was far too hot anyway.

"It's a nice arse, so why not?" Philippos shot back, wiping himself down. Watching seemed like the thing to do, so Amedeo made himself comfortable and observed, idly wondering whether they were the only two who'd had this idea tonight. 

Philippos raised an eyebrow at him. 

Amedeo smirked in response. "Not an area covered by protocol in any way, is it?"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. We can't be the first who've ever felt inspired. Dig deep enough and one of your ancestor probably put down a list of rules for what to do when you fuck at a wedding."

"That's what's supposed to happen at weddings."

"Not when you're not part of the happy couple. And not married already, either." Lying back down against the cushions, Philippos shifted in a lazy full-body stretch that had him look more like a cat than anything else. "Not that it matters. It's complicated either way."

Amedeo frowned at that and rolled over onto his left, so he came face to face with Philippos. "You're welcome to stay," he murmured, tangling their legs with the barest of intentions in mind. "No need to rush off. I'll even order condoms and lube for breakfast."

He'd have to remember to pay for that with his private credit card. His parents would have his head if they found breakfast for two and erotic supplements on the official bill, when he was supposed to be all proper and well-behaved.

Philippos shot him a fleeting smile and gave a contented sigh as he snuggled down. "Nice of you not to kick me out in the middle of the night."

"Do I look like an idiot?"

"Obviously not. Didn't think you'd jump at this sort of opportunity, though." 

Amedeo snorted. "Like I said, do I look like an idiot?"

Smirking, Philippos reached out to sling an arm across his stomach. "True, and you'd know about complications that can arise from this."

Even tired, buzzed and with endorphins still cheerfully humming in his brain, Amedeo couldn't have missed the tentative undercurrent to that. It just took a moment to figure out which direction he was supposed to jump and, more importantly, whether he wanted to jump at all. He'd better, he decided, or this was going to turn awkward far too quickly. 

"You already figured out that neither of us is going to end up in the family way from this," he pointed out. "And hey, if you're ever in New York and in the mood, look me up." 

He sensed Philippos relax at that. "Will do. And you, too, but I don't know yet where I'll end up for the next year or so. Royal-motivated internships, you know how it goes."

"Not really, I ran away before they could enlist me for anything."

"Smart move." Yawning, Philippos briefly turned his face into the pillow, then slowly blinked at Amedeo. "Sorry. Long day."

Amedeo grinned and reached up to pet his dark hair before dropping his hand again and making himself comfortable. Too warm for even a light sheet, really, especially with Philippos still casually holding on to him. "Get some sleep. We're having condoms for breakfast."

***  
March 2017  
***

Seven years later, Amedeo was reassessing the idea that he could get away with a quick roll in the hay with Philippos without incurring consequences.

A seemingly harmless chat at the Rose Ball in Monaco with Andrea and Theodora, an accidentally awkward comment, and Amedeo found himself to the tips of his ears in trouble when Guillaume jumped to the right conclusions about Philippos. True to form, he took it in the worst way possible.

Andrea had managed to keep them from having an argument in public - barely - but in exchange Amedeo had been treated to a blistering lecture about how much of an idiot he'd been about this. By a Grimaldi, no less, which added insult to injury.

Andrea had a point, of course, Amedeo was willing to acknowledge as much. It hadn't been exactly smart to risk letting Guillaume be caught unaware of his little adventure with Philippos by chance and in the middle of an official event. Guillaume might have come to realise that he didn't actually have any right to be jealous over times when he hadn't been involved in Amedeo's sex life himself, but that didn't mean he was dealing too well with it. He'd never handled that knowledge too well, something about possessive jealousy and at the same time uncertainty which Amedeo had never been able to entirely figure out, and after they'd already had one thorough fight over this, he hadn't been too eager to dwell on it. 

It seemed they were doomed to repeat that now. Amedeo didn't think there were a lot of things he was looking forward to less.

As soon as the door fell shut behind them, Guillaume stalked across their room to the wide picture windows overlooking Monaco's main harbour. Physical distance, always his reaction to trouble between them, and Amedeo didn't even try to close it again. Instead he stayed where he was, leaning back against the door, arms crossed tightly over his chest. 

"Anything else I should know before I find out about it in casual conversation?" Guillaume asked, shutting the window with a lot more force than strictly necessary. "Or any _one_ , rather?"

Amedeo drew a sharp breath. "Guillaume-"

"Don't. Just don't." His husband stared down at the lights of Monaco, his spine rigid with tension. "Damn it, Amedeo! You really could have said something!"

"And what would that have been?" Amedeo demanded, his tone sharper than he'd intended. "By the way, love, Philippos and I had a half-drunken shag before you ever got around to stake a claim on me? Oh yes, I can see that going down well."

Guillaume turned around, a dark frown on his face. "It would have been better than nothing!"

"We'd still have this conversation, wouldn't we? So don't blame me for trying to avoid that. Maybe you won't believe it, but I don't actually enjoy fighting with you! We've been over this once, I really don't need a repeat of it."

"You think I do?" Guillaume demanded. 

"Then why are we even talking about this now?"

The look Guillaume gave him at that was a lot colder than what Amedeo was used to from him whenever they ended up arguing. "You can't- You can't be serious. Do you want me to ignore this?"

Amedeo met his eyes, his head held high. "'We're fighting over something that's long over, and that doesn't even concern you. Tell me, is that worth it? Where's the point?"

"The point is that I just had to explain to Theodora that I had no idea you slept with her brother. And that you know as well as I do that we'll keep running into him. What did you call it when we were figuring out our own relationship, a need to avoid mortifying family reunions? I'd say we're going to have those now!"

"Yet another reason for me not to say anything," Amedeo shot back. 

"Yes, so I can get blindsided by this sort of news in the middle of a formal occasion, and by Andrea Casiraghi of all people!"

"Andrea had nothing to do with that, he had no idea."

Guillaume gave a brittle laugh. "Makes us two already. Wonderful, so we finally have something in common. I'd have preferred if it weren't about not knowing that my husband once had an affair with a mutual friend."

This was getting away from him, and Amedeo was too tightly wound to tell how to handle this right now. Arguments with Guillaume always were a balance act between letting off steam and not hurting each other, but this one was turning far too complicated for that. 

"It wasn't an affair," he snapped. "And it had nothing to do with you. Damn it, Guillaume, did you think I was a blushing virgin when you kissed me? I'm sorry to disappoint you about that!"

"That doesn't matter! I don't care what you did with him, or when or why. I don't _want_ to know that." Guillaume paused to draw a deep breath. "Remember how you said we need to talk about things, back when we had this same argument over your former girlfriend? Whatever happened to that idea?"

Amedeo inwardly winced. It had crossed his mind a few times, but he'd always decided against bringing up a few issues he knew he _should_ tell Guillaume about, but which at the same time were guaranteed to end in an argument. Not that the strategy to avoid exactly that had worked out, it seemed. 

"I don't care that you slept with Philippos," Guillaume went on. "No, that's not true, I do care and I don't like it, but that's not what this is about. Could you not simply have told me?"

"'So we'd have had this argument sooner?" Amedeo wanted to know as he wrapped his arms tighter around himself. "Forgive me for not being all that eager about the prospect."

Guillaume studied him, an unreadable expression on his face. "Is there anyone else I need to be aware of?"

The question hurt a lot more than Amedeo would have thought. "No-one you and I are likely to meet. Why, do you want a list?"

"I don't-" Guillaume broke off and angrily waved his hand. "So you aren't going to tell me. Fine." He pushed away from the windowsill. "I'm not having this argument with you right now, we're not getting anywhere."

Amedeo watched with growing disbelief as Guillaume headed for the door. This wasn't how this was supposed to go, not in any way. They had their fights, they both were too stubborn to back down to avoid those, but something was off here and it was starting to seriously frighten him that he couldn't figure it out. "Where are you going?"

"I'll see if the staff can find me another room, otherwise there are hotels," Guillaume said, his tone all blank and formal, a sound Amedeo hated whenever he ran into it because that meant he was dealing with the Hereditary Grand Duke of Luxembourg and not his husband. "I will see you for breakfast, there's no need to make people talk."

"Guillaume! Damn it, don't-" Amedeo was on his feet in an instant when he realised that Guillaume was actually going to walk away from this. "Guillaume," he tried again as he caught up with him by the door. "Stay. Please."

He wanted to reach out and run his hand down along that painfully straight back, try to brush some of the tension away, but he had the sinking feeling that a touch wouldn't be welcome right now. Not when he was the reason for all that tension in the first place, along with Guillaume's bloody stubbornness and inability to deal with things that weren't his business in the first place.

"I'm not in the mood for this," Guillaume said coldly. "Figure it out for yourself, then you can inform me in the morning whether I can trust you to actually tell me about matters I should be aware of, or if I'm going to have a journalist telling me about this sort of thing next time."

He reached for the door handle, and Amedeo couldn't hold back; he caught Guillaume's hand in his own and drew him back half a step until resistance kicked in. "Look, I know I didn't handle this in a perfect way, but I didn't think it would ever come up, or that it would cause problems. And Philippos would never talk to the press, you must know that."

The look Guillaume treated him to was one he hadn't seen on his husband before, somewhere between cold disdain, disbelief and that damned distanced formality Amedeo loathed. "You don't get this at all, do you?"

"Guillaume-"

"Tomorrow," Guillaume said sharply and pulled away from him. Amedeo began to reach out once more, but stopped in his tracks when nothing made sense anymore. 

It was only too easy to understand that Guillaume didn't like the idea of Amedeo having had other partners. That Philippos moved in their circles only added complications, but it also meant that everyone involved would die rather than talk about this to the press. 

Guillaume had to know that there was no need to question Amedeo's faithfulness, not when they'd had this very matter out in the open once already and dealt with it. Amedeo didn't _want_ anyone who wasn't Guillaume, it was as simple as that, but he didn't know how to make Guillaume see that, or if it was the issue right now altogether.

"Guillaume," he tried again, after a quick, deep breath to regain some balance he wasn't really feeling. "Please. We don't need to have this discussion right now, just... stay."

Guillaume turned around sharply and with plenty of anger in his eyes, but that was a reaction, at least, not that cool mask. "That's where you're wrong," he snapped. "We need to have that discussion. We need to talk about these things, remember? Seems to me like you didn't do all that much talking even after you gave me hell for not telling you when something was bothering me."

Amedeo opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again when he realised he really didn't have a leg to stand on here. He'd been the one to push Guillaume whenever it seemed they were having trouble communicating. He'd been the one to insist that they talked about possible trouble spots. And he'd been the only one so far to walk out after a fight, and that after the one they'd had over Keyla, and Guillaume's inability to sort out how he felt about Amedeo having had a girlfriend in the past with whom he still was on speaking terms. 

"Damn it," he muttered, and earned a dark, humourless smile from Guillaume at that. "Not my best decision."

"That is putting it mildly," Guillaume agreed. He still stood by the door, but at least he no longer had his hand on the handle. "I'd suggest you talk, but I don't think there's all that much left for you to tell me that I haven't figured out by myself already."

Amedeo shot him a guilty look. "Probably not. There isn't all that much to tell."

Guillaume rolled his eyes. "Not something I want to know in any sort of detail."

"I'm not going to apologise that it happened," Amedeo said carefully, "but I'm sorry that I didn't tell you. I give you my word that you can trust me that I'd never do this to you."

Heaving a sigh, Guillaume finally took a step away from the door. "This isn't about trust," he said. "Not my trust, at least."

The implication stung, but Amedeo couldn't find a way to deny it. "I thought it doesn't matter," he said and settled down in an uneasy perch at the corner of the bed, deliberately putting himself lower than Guillaume. This wasn't about pride or winning, this was about sorting it all out before it turned into a real cause of trouble for them rather than a heated but brief disagreement. 

"What matters is that you didn't tell me," Guillaume said, his voice strangely calm and at odds with the anger still bright in his eyes. "What you did before you and I started a relationship isn't my business, strictly speaking. I know you aren't sleeping with anyone behind my back, but that isn't it. This could have turned into a lot of trouble and you didn't trust me enough to give me fair warning."

"Because I know how you'd react and-," Amedeo began sharply, then caught himself. "No, forget that. I didn't want to tell you, but I should have, you're right about that. But I didn't think it would ever matter. It was one night, seven years ago, and Philippos and I haven't even crossed paths long enough since then to have coffee together."

Guillaume shot him a frosty glower. "I should hope so."

Amedeo hesitated for a second. "You already know about Keyla," he said, trying not to think too hard about that right now. If they were doomed to have this sort of confrontation about each and every one of his relationships, then he truly was in trouble. "Do you want to know about the rest, too?"

For one tense moment,, he thought Guillaume would say yes, but then his husband shook his head. "I don't _want_ to know. Is there anyone I _should_ know about?"

"No-one who's likely to cross your path. Or who'd have any reason to look for press attention." No hostile break-ups, no cheating, and plenty of caution where the possibility of pregnancies, planned or unplanned, was concerned. That was a risk everyone on the royal circuit was well aware of; lectures to junior royals these days were less about proper courting behaviour and the importance of equal marriages - with a few exceptions, Habsburgs unfortunately among them - and far more about the need to take your own precautions and not take anyone else's word for it.

Guillaume gave him a hard look. "And you'd tell me if anything like that came up?" he asked and went on before he could protest at being talked to like a ten-year-old. "Amedeo, I mean it. Will you tell me?"

Amedeo nodded tersely in reply. 

Again Guillaume sighed, then crossed the distance between them with a few weary steps and sat down by his side. "I wonder how William and Carl Philip dealt with this."

Amede glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "I think all of their relationships have been dragged through the press so many times, there's no point in it."

"And neither of them probably was foolish enough to try anything with someone on the royal circuit with someone they were bound to run into on a regular basis," Guillaume said.

"Unlike you, love?" Amedeo couldn't resist. 

"You weren't exactly a spontaneous decision I made on a whim."

Amedeo had been thinking more along the lines of Guillaume's doomed attempt at flirtation with Carl Philip that had resulted in a decade of icy distance from their Swedish friend, but he was smart enough to bite his tongue on that comment. "Neither were you for me," he said instead. "Quite the opposite, actually."

Guillaume arched an eyebrow at that. The point when friendship had turned into love for each of them had never explicitly come up before; they'd both been cautious enough not to make any irrevocable moves before they weren't both sure. Or rather, until Amedeo had been sure that Guillaume wasn't going to have any second thoughts about it anymore. Afterwards it hadn't mattered anymore.

"You know, you could have had me quite a bit sooner if you'd made up your mind." 

Guillaume blinked. "Sooner?" 

"I had something of a crush on you for a while. Possibly since that day you rescued my sandcastle from Louis and got a black eye for your troubles."

"You were seven years old, I hope you aren't suggesting-"

"It was more of a platonic crush back then," Amedeo assured him with a wink. "More hero worship, less need to shag you senseless."

"Clearly the hero worship is gone by now," Guillaume said dryly. 

"It's lessened a somewhat." Cautiously, Amedeo reached for Guillaume's hand and breathed an inward sigh of relief when he wasn't rebuffed. "I truly am sorry. I should have said something, but truth be told, I haven't even thought about it for years."

Guillaume drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "I'll just consider that reassuring to know. And you'll pay for your sins yet."

Amedeo shot him an apprehensive glance. 

"Theodora wants to have a word with you tomorrow about the things you did to her baby brother."

"Is there any chance I can convince you to leave tonight? We could be at the airport in Nice in an hour, she'd never catch us."

A smile curled at the corner of Guillaume's mouth. "Oh no. You get to face your punishment. She was properly outraged that you didn't stop at her brother, but had to steal me from her, too."

Amedeo laughed. "For that she'd have needed to have you in the first place," he said, then gave Guillaume a speculative look. "Did she?"

Guillaume's expression immediately went back to frosty. "I'll pretend you didn't just say that."

"Just a joke, and not a particularly good one, it seems," Amedeo admitted, desperately struggling to regain his footing in this entire situation. Fights he could deal with, but this was different somehow. Deeper, with a lot more potential to hurt. 

"Really not, no," Guillaume agreed, apparently willing to be merciful. "Did I ever tell you when she and I were properly introduced?"

"You mean when she dragged you off on your first lunch date? I don't think so."

Guillaume suddenly looked inexplicably amused. "Harry's wedding. She called me a week after that and commanded me to attend."

"That's... oh. Right." Ducking his head, Amedeo didn't bother to hide his smirk at that. Harry's wedding always sparked very satisfying memories. "I get what you mean. Lucky for me then that I dragged you into bed first and she never had a chance to snatch you away. I might have had to challenge her to a duel over you after all."

That got him a quiet laugh from Guillaume, just as he'd hoped, though he could tell the tension was far from gone. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

Amedeo shot him a hopeful look. "I have a list," he suggested with a swift smile before turning serious again. "I didn't think it would ever matter, or I would have told you." He shook his head. "Scratch that, I should have told you nonetheless."

Guillaume looked at him seriously. "You should have," he agreed. "Any other sins you need to confess?"

Amedeo shook his head. "None I can think of. Well, I hijacked that award distribution you had scheduled in Vianden next week, but that's less a sin and more an act of protecting your sanity. They'd have made you wear rubber boots and pet sheep." 

"Amedeo..."

"Do you _want_ to pet sheep?"

"That's not-"

"You'd have to give up your suit and wear jeans instead for that." He paused. "Actually, I may have been overly hasty in snatching that appointment away from you. Those jeans of yours need to get more appearances."

Guillaume blinked. "Sometimes I'm almost ready to agree with Andrea. Your mind is a scary place."

"I merely can appreciate the way you look when you're trying for casual." This was far more familiar ground between them, a bit of banter where they both knew the rules. Guillaume let Amedeo get away with poaching his appointments down to an almost reasonable amount most of the time, and in return Amedeo stayed away from anything on the schedule he privately considered pointless but knew Guillaume felt obligated to deal with in person. It still left far too much to do, but that was a battle Amedeo knew he wasn't going to win anytime soon.

"Stop stealing my work, then you get to see me in jeans," Guillaume pointed out, unfairly reasonable and far too smug about it. 

"Never. It's far too much fun." Amedeo shot him a lopsided smile and tightened his grip on Guillaume's hand. "Are we good?" he asked quietly.

Guillaume met his gaze and held it calmly until it became an effort not to give in to that nagging feeling of guilt and look away. "We're good. But you're still facing Theodora by yourself tomorrow."

"Cruel."

"Consider it part of your punishment. Be glad I'm not going to take a leaf out of your book, or I'd go and complain to William so he can have one of those talks with you."

Amedeo treated him to his best imploring look, all wide eyes and dramatic blinking. "Have mercy!"

By now, Guillaume definitely was fighting to suppress a smile. "Why should I? You never do."

Amedeo fluttered his eyelashes at him. "I'll make it worth your while?"

"You," Guillaume informed him, "have a one-track mind."

"I thought you like that about me. It's not like you ever complained." Amedeo paused, still careful about all this. It felt as though they were on safe ground again, but he didn't quite trust himself not to slip up again yet. "I love you. And I didn't mean to imply that I don't trust you."

Guillaume gave him one of those looks that said he was still not entirely certain what to do about the situation, as if Amedeo had needed another confirmation that he'd inadvertently crossed a line. Putting Guillaume on the defensive was never a smart move, especially where their relationship was concerned. Too much hinged on them making this work in the long term, and while Amedeo didn't think that the public image was Guillaume's main concern, he was only too aware that it played an inevitable role. But they both still clicked and, the occasional disagreement aside, had settled into their relationship comfortably enough by now that Amedeo had no doubt they were in for the long haul here.

"We should probably have another try at talking about such matters," Guillaume said eventually, leaning closer until their shoulders touched. 

Amedeo took a deep breath, heavy with resignation. "We should. But do you mind if we don't do that right now?"

Guillaume shook his head. "Once we're back home is soon enough, or you'll just nag me about not taking my holidays seriously."

It was an effort not to comment on that, but Amedeo managed. "Who knows, Theodora might tear my head off tomorrow anyway," he quipped instead, trying to get them both towards a more relaxed topic. "No point in wasting the effort."

"Theodora doesn't get to dismember or behead you," Guillaume said firmly. "Not without my permission, anyway."

Amedeo arched an eyebrow at that. "Is that so?"

"Naturally. You're mine, I won't lend you to her if there's a risk of permanent damage."

"Possessive, are you?" Amedeo teased, and tried not to dwell on the sudden idea that being loaned to Theodora could actually be fun, as long as Guillaume came along for it. 

In lieu of a reply, Guillaume kissed him, chaste but with that earnest dedication that always had Amedeo feel just a little lightheaded when he found himself the center of all that attention. Humming wordless approval, he let Guillaume have the upper hand for once, only permitting himself the smallest gestures to lead them in more intimate directions. A flick of his tongue, the hint of a suggestive nip to the corner of Guillaume's mouth, enough to get his message across. 

When they withdrew to look at each other, there was a spark of amusement in Guillaume's brown eyes. "Working on getting your way?"

Amedeo blinked at him, the expression of pure innocence an easy one to conjure. "Would I ever do that?"

"In a heartbeat." Guillaume kissed him again, a mere close-mouthed peck that had him automatically follow and try for more. "Proving my point."

"That's not getting my way, that's getting us both towards what I know you've got on your mind right now, too," Amedeo pointed out, letting his hand settle high on Guillaume's thigh. "Unless you want me to stop?"

"As if you could." Guillaume turned towards him, drawing up one leg and shifting so he sat fully on the bed, his body language finally relaxed and open. Amedeo swiftly copied him, his hand sliding up a little further. "This isn't going to be make-up sex, right?"

Amedeo pretended to think about that. "Are you going to make me stop if I say yes?"

Guillaume frowned at him. "I'm not sleeping with you because you feel guilty."

With a sigh, Amedeo leaned back a little. "Trust me, that's not my motivation right now. It's got very little to do with me feeling guilty, and much more with you being the man I love." He winked. "And then there's the way your trousers show off your arse. I've been wanting to get you out of them for most of the evening, so don't spoil that for me. They're almost as good as your jeans."

And Guillaume was a lot more likely to wear these instead of casual clothes. Amedeo reminded himself not to risk any damage; they had plenty of official events scheduled in the coming weeks where this suit could make an appearance.

"What _is_ it with your obsession with my jeans?" Guillaume wanted to know, still not making any move to take this to more interesting matters. 

"They're nice," Amedeo drawled, closing the distance between them. "And they're casual," he murmured against Guillaume's mouth, "which means you're relaxed when you wear them." Another kiss, teasing enough this time to get Guillaume to properly participate. "And you look bloody hot in them. Why do you think I made you keep them in New York all the time?"

"I should have known that you had hidden plans," Guillaume growled, finally - finally! - making a move to push this further. 

Happily humming, Amedeo went along and followed his lead. Resistance was fun, but right now he wasn't in the mood to draw this out any further. Guillaume hadn't been wrong about guilt being a motivator, or rather, causing a need to confirm that everything was settled between them again. In bed it was always obvious if something was off; there'd be a lot less playful ease from Guillaume and much more polite formality, which really was out of place when it happened in the middle of foreplay. 

He was demonstratively careful when it came to getting rid of Guillaume's trousers and made a show of folding them tidily, until Guillaume gave a noise of sheer impatience and dragged him down into bed again. Then all that thorough dedication went into kissing and stroking and licking and nibbling, until Amedeo was at a point where he'd have needed a second to remember his own name.

"No longer trying to get your own way?" Guillaume asked at one point, and it took an effort to register the question and remember to reply, too, when all his attention was still occupied with the need to get those clever hands back to what they'd been doing to him.

"No need, you're doing fine," he managed eventually, head tipping back into the cushions at the sensation of Guillaume's tongue rough and hot against the tender skin of his belly and then lower, until that heat was on his cock and coherence was the last thing on his mind. 

His hands were batted away when he tried to reciprocate, and Guillaume kept him down with a firm push against his shoulder when he attempted to sit up. 

"Don't," and there was something commanding enough behind that little word, it made Amedeo fall back and simply let Guillaume call the shots for once. 

He couldn't entirely resist the need to reach out, though, not when he craved more contact between them. It wasn't even an attempt to make Guillaume do anything in particular, it was just about feeling him close.

"Not fair," he complained when he was thwarted once more, and he heard a chuckle in response. His hands were held tightly, kisses pressed to the palms, then Guillaume stretched above him and pinned his arms against the bed with a firm grip to his wrists. 

"Keep them there," he commanded, voice brooking no disagreement, not that the thought of disobedience would have crossed Amedeo's mind right now. He'd never seen Guillaume like this before. Sure, they'd played at it plenty of times, whenever the mood struck or when Amedeo had sensed his husband's need to work through that frustrating feeling of matters not going according to plan. It always was an effort to make Guillaume let go of his composure enough to vent some of that tension, and he'd never taken on complete control of what they did in bed. That Amedeo wasn't all that good at shutting up and _letting_ him might have something to do with that, too.

But this time was different. This wasn't fooling around, and this wasn't about frustrations either. This went deeper, much deeper, and Amedeo found that it turned him on immensely. For what felt lie an eternity, Guillaume played him like he sometimes did his piano, every touch well-timed and deliberate, until all Amedeo was capable of was respond with sighs and gasps and moans, begging for more.

And then the infuriating bastard had the gall to pull away and sit back, a far too smug smirk on his flushed face, and if Amedeo hadn't still been focused on keeping his wrists where he'd been ordered to, he'd have strangled him out of sheer frustration.

"You... this is... Guillaume!"

Guillaume rested a firm hand on his knee (his knee!) for a second, then gave him a pat that might have been meant to be reassuring, but really only drew attention to all the other spots he wasn't touching right now. 

"No need to get agitated, I'm not going anywhere."

"You'd better not!"

The smirk widened. "Impatient, are we?"

Amedeo raised his head and gave him his best glare. " _We_ are bloody well going to get on with this!"

Guillaume watched him, face flushed, eyebrows quirked. "Patience is a virtue, they say."

"Do I look like I care about virtue right now?" Amedeo demanded, squirming down in an attempt to get that damned hand to slide higher, because while having it slowly rub at the lower end of his thigh might be nice, there were a few parts of him that were far more interested in that sort of attention. "Guillaume!"

He watched incredulously as Guillaume had the nerve to actually get off the bed, then felt a little bit more forgiving when his husband was back a moment later, lube in hand. "Why did you fetch that? There's plenty on the nightstand, no need to waste time."

The advantage of staying in Monaco; you could rely on Andrea providing a little gift basket with all the necessities. Amedeo was sure their friend got far too much fun out of that, but right now Grimaldi entertainment choices were the last thing on his mind. 

"You know," Guillaume said conversationally as he uncapped the lube, "I've never understood the appeal of flavours."

Amedeo shot him a wild look. "Can we please have the culinary discussions later?" he asked desperately, thrusting his hips up in an attempt to get some attention. 

"There's even strawberry," Guillaume pointed out.

"I don't care!"

Guillaume gave him a once-over, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "So impatient."

" _Guillaume!_ " he growled, trembling with the effort it took to keep his hands where they were. He could have moved against Guillaume's earlier order, but he just knew that if he did, that would simply mean digging cuffs or scarves or a tie or something out of the suitcase, and that would be another delay. He did _not_ have the patience for that, so he pressed his crossed wrists down against the mattress, met Guillaume's eyes and willed him to bloody well get on with it before this drove him crazy with need and want.

A lube-wet hand finally dropped between his legs. He focused on it, shifting with the familiar touches and trying to get more, faster, until Guillaume leaned up to capture his mouth in a commanding kiss and he could lose himself in the taste and scent. 

"Please," he gasped, tipping his head back when he felt Guillaume's lips trail a path along his jaw and down his throat, all nips and licks until raising a spot of bright heat right above the bump of his collar bone. 

The begging had the desired effect (one of the advantages of Guillaume being simply too polite to ignore a request, even when he was attempting to play at dominance). More lube - Amedeo absently thought he could smell something fruity - and they finally moved together with the ease of long familiarity. 

"Everything all right?" Guillaume asked, his tone still far too close to maddening amusement. 

Amedeo managed to quirk an eyebrow up at him and shifted, angling his hips in search of leverage. "Making sounds of distress, am I?" 

"Just checking," he heard the teasing assurance. Then one of those clever hands found his cock, and there wasn't even the faintest chance that the loud groan that escaped him at the touch could be mistaken for anything but complete and utter agreement with the proceedings.

He kept up a running commentary of gasps, moans and shouts, loud enough to make Guillaume pause for a frustrating second to glance at the balcony doors to make sure that they were shut. 

"Medieval fortress," Amedeo panted before there could be any ideas about sound traveling to other rooms. "Those walls have got to be massive, don't worry." 

"I'm just-"

"Don't even think about it," he snapped, six thorough years' worth of intimate knowledge of Guillaume's body coming in more than handy in making him forget about potential audiences. Not enough, though, not nearly enough. Then again, it never would be. They'd been a great match in bed from the beginning, exuberance balanced by temperance, and Amedeo knew he'd never lose his hunger for their intimacy. 

Laughter from Guillaume, along with a stumble in their pace until they worked it out again and settled into their lovemaking, far too familiar with each other to let that interrupt them. 

Later, freshly showered and curled together in an exhausted heap on top of the sheets, they watched the lights of the ships in Monaco's harbour, bright even at this time of the night. The Rose Ball probably was winding down by now, and Amedeo spared an absent thought to wonder whether anyone had noticed that they had vanished early. 

"As if anyone pays attention to us," Guillaume said when he voiced the question. "They've got Andrea to observe, and William and Carl Philip, of course. We pale in comparison."

"The reason why I picked you, rather than one of them." Amedeo tucked himself around his husband and buried his nose against the nape of Guillaume's neck for a handful of deep, calm breaths. "Tiny grand duchy, I only have to share you with a few Luxembourgians." 

Guillaume was suspiciously quiet for a second, then said, "You wouldn't have to share someone like Philippos with anyone else."

Amedeo tightened his arms across Guillaume's stomach for a second, thumbs tracing the line of his ribs. "Don't be stupid," he murmured. "Like I'd abandon you for a boring Greek."

"Boring, is he?"

"I thought you didn't want to know?" Amedeo asked in turn. He was starting to feel more awake again, the easy mood fading, and he didn't like that one bit. Raising his left hand, he started to slowly thread his fingers through Guillaume's dark hair, lingering at his temple. 

"I don't, particularly." Guillaume drew a slow breath and shifted to settle back tighter against him, a warm, firm contact from knees to shoulders. "But you had other options. Less public ones."

"Like that matters."

"You don't enjoy the official part of your role much."

Amedeo sighed and tightened his hold. "It's not my favourite activity, but it's a more than acceptable price to pay to have you. A supporting role where I get to stand a step behind you is perfectly fine with me."

"Still-"

"Guillaume," he said, accompanying his tone with a firm nip to Guillaume's neck, where a love bite was beginning to bloom already anyway. "I don't want to be responsible for a country. That doesn't mean I don't want to help you with your own responsibilities, and it certainly doesn't mean that I want to take up with Philippos again. For one thing, that would earn me Theodora as a sister-in-law."

He suspected the shudder he felt from Guillaume at that wasn't entirely feigned. "Point taken."

"I knew that would convince you." A pat to Guillaume's stomach, and a moment later his hand was caught and held. "I'm happy with what I've got with you, even if it isn't always fun and I'll have to share you with the public. It doesn't matter in the greater scheme of things. I know I can do the job as your consort, so that's fine. Even your mother says so."

Which had been far more meaningful than Amedeo had let anyone notice at the time. He knew he wasn't bad at his official role, but hearing the confirmation from his mother-in-law mattered more than he thought he should admit. 

"She'd know," Guillaume murmured. "And she's right, you are good at it, aside from your infernal obsession with my schedule."

It didn't sound like Guillaume was interested in rehashing that particular argument, so Amedeo let it go for now. They'd end up facing off about it again in a few weeks anyway. Instead he settled their joined hands lower on Guillaume's belly and cuddled closer, carefully working one knee between his husband's.

The move earned him a disbelieving chuckle. "No way. That's not even optimistic, that's delusional, even for you."

He heaved a sigh. "The tragedy of marrying someone older," he said, but didn't do anything to push this further, even though he wouldn't have minded the additional assurance that matters truly were settled between them. "I'll just have to bide my time, don't think I'm giving up on the idea."

"Persistent as ever," Guillaume muttered, but didn't protest when Amedeo shifted their positions to settle them together in a more interesting and suggestive fashion. "Am I going to get at least some sleep tonight?"

"You can sleep in the morning, you know breakfast won't be until noon anyway. There's no chance the others will crawl out of bed before that. We can sleep in."

Or rather, Amedeo could sleep in, and if he managed to wrap himself sufficiently around Guillaume, that might be enough to keep him in bed too rather than wandering around in search of caffeine before sunrise. 

"Monaco is far too lazy," Guillaume complained. "Small wonder the Grimaldis never got anything done."

Amedeo poked him in the side. "Be nice. Andrea is efficient when he wants to be." He paused to nuzzle at the spot behind Guillaume's ear, smiling when it didn't fail to produce a content sigh. "Be lazy for once, you know you'll enjoy it. I'll make it worth your while."

Guillaume groaned and buried his face in the pillow. "You'll be the death of me one day."

"Think of it as part of your regular work-out. If you refuse to go running with me, I need to make sure you get exercise in another way." Again he let his hand stray lower, smirking when he wasn't rebuffed. It never was hard to tell when Guillaume truly wasn't in the mood; most of the time persuasion simply was part of foreplay, and something Amedeo had a lot of practice with by now. "It's all for your own good."

They didn't get much rest that night, but as a result, even Guillaume managed to sleep in until almost noon.

***  
July 2018  
***

A sharp rap at the door of the apartment he shared with Guillaume in Berg made Amedeo look up, then mutter a curse under his breath when a few sheets of paper slipped from his hand at the distraction.

"Come in," he called out, getting down on his knees to collect the dropped print-outs again. With all the stacks of papers scattered around him on the floor, the sofa and the table before him, he couldn't risk them lost somewhere in the marginally controlled chaos he'd created. 

Alexandra peered in, a cheerful smile on her face he didn't trust for even a second. "Hi! Lovely afternoon, isn't it?"

Amedeo snatched the last sheet and returned it to its proper stack. "Very," he agreed cautiously, reaching up to adjust his reading glasses and buy himself another second to figure out what his sister-in-law was up to. 

"Are you busy?" she asked, coming in. 

"I can take a break." And probably should, at that; he needed to take a step back from this whole mess he had spread out around him and figure out the best route of attack. Puzzling through someone else's bookkeeping never was a straightforward matter, especially when it came down to figuring out whether they were hiding something or simply incompetent. 

Alexandra shot him a bright smile. "Perfect. Is Guillaume around?"

"It's five in the afternoon on Thursday, and you have to ask?" he wanted to know in return, eyebrows waggling. "You know your brother better than that." 

"Point taken. Well, I was hoping to get you both, but in that case, you'll have to do."

He had the uneasy feeling that he wasn't going to enjoy this. "You could wait," he tried. "He'll be home by seven. I've been training him." 

She snorted. "I bet you did, I saw the hickeys on his neck. But this can't wait."

"Really not?"

He suddenly had something shoved pointed at him that looked suspiciously like a pregnancy test. "Really not."

Amedeo had never actually been confronted with this sort of terror-inspiring weapon by a girlfriend, so he had no idea about the proper etiquette where these things were concerned. 

"Mnh," he tried, doing his best not to move in case it decided to bite.

Alexandra shot him a jaundiced glance. "It's a good thing you and Guillaume are being gay together. Don't worry, it's negative."

Amedeo was still caught between trying to work out why she was telling _him_ , trying to stay put and not flee, and trying his best not to think of Guillaume's little sister doing things that might cause her to need pregnancy tests int he first place.

"If you don't want to be an uncle again sooner than expected," she continued, an evil glint in her eyes, "you'll help me out with this."

He didn't dare ask what _this_ was. "I'm already an uncle five times thanks to Félix and Louis," he pointed out instead, aiming for some facts. "It's not that surprising anymore."

The sudden grin on Alexandra's face was not reassuring. 

"What?" he asked, arms folded across his chest defensively. 

"You," she told him, "are _so_ blind. I can't believe you haven't figured it out! Guillaume, too, but with him I know he's simply oblivious about some things. But you! Joachim was convinced you'd worked it out ages ago!"

A scary suspicion began to dawn on Amedeo. "You," he said carefully, then trailed off when he couldn't figure out a polite way to ask whether his little brother was shagging his husband's little sister. 

Alexandra took one look at him and dissolved into giggles. "It's been three years," she managed eventually. "We moved in together a year ago, how could you not guess? I thought you just didn't want to spoil it for us before we went official. So Guillaume doesn't know either?"

"I'm fairly sure I'd have noticed."

"As if your powers of observation are anything to be proud of," Alexandra snickered. "You're right, the flailing and panicking would have been hard to miss. But you can be the one to tell him now."

Amedeo stared at her. "Oh no. Certainly not."

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Please?"

"Do you have any idea what he's going to do when he finds out? Aside from attempting to castrate Joachim, I mean? Because that one's a given."

"Surely you'll protect your little brother?"

"And risk getting banned to the sofa for the foreseeable future? No way. Guillaume's your brother, you get to break the news to him. He told you in person too when it was about us, it's only fair that you return the favour now." A solid argument, he felt, and hoped she'd agree with it. 

Alexandra folded her arms. "I'd figured him out long ago before he got around to confessing," she said. "But fine, if you're going to be such a coward about it..."

Amedeo gave her a beatific smile and refused to rise to the bait. Cowardice was perfectly fine with him at times.

"Chicken. Don't expect me to be the one to hold his hand and calm him down."

"Don't worry about that, calming him down is a lot more fun than giving him that sort of news."

Alexandra shot him a dubious look. "Things I don't need to imagine about Guillaume and you," she said sternly. 

"I'll make you a deal, I don't share what I do to your brother if you don't tell me what you get up to with mine?" Amedeo suggested. "Happy denial for everybody?"

"If that's how you want it to be. But just so you know, we're counting on you and Guillaume to back us up with this."

It took an effort not to grimace at that, but he managed to keep his face blank. By now it was more a reflex than a real concern; his mother had calmed down considerably over the past years, and while he knew she still didn't think he'd made a smart choice with Guillaume, she'd resigned herself to acceptance. And Joachim wouldn't face the same controversies with her anyway, not when his chosen partner in life met all the criteria laid down by the house laws and was of the opposite gender on top of that. 

He didn't say any of that out loud, though. Alexandra wasn't blind, she knew only too well what had gone down between Amedeo and his mother over his relationship with Guillaume. That she and Joachim wouldn't be entirely unaffected by that was more than obvious. 

"Whatever you need from us, you'll have it," he told her instead.

He was still trying to wrap his mind around the entire idea a few hours later when he caught the sound of familiar steps from the hallway. Another few seconds and Guillaume came in, looking tired enough that Amedeo decided that the duty of breaking the news to him was definitely falling to Alexandra, and that tonight wasn't the time for it. Guillaume had been running himself ragged again over the past few days, and there was no way Amedeo was going to mention something that was bound to agitate him. That sort of news would just make him try to skip their holiday in order to do emergency planning, and that wasn't an option. Arranging an extended weekend stay on Andrea's yacht had been hard enough, and Amedeo was determined to get Guillaume into a position where he was surrounded by water and thus unable to escape a few days of enforced relaxation.

After closing the door, Guillaume stood still for a second before toeing off his shoes and taking a visible breath. 

"Everything all right?" Amedeo asked, putting away the stack of print-outs in his lap. He just made to get up when Guillaume gave him a tired wave. 

"Stay," his husband told him and came over, then practically dropped down on the sofa by his side in the one spot currently clear of papers. "I hate to admit it, but I'm almost looking forward to getting away for a few days."

Amedeo reached out to feel his forehead, earning a tired chuckle that turned into a contented sigh when he replaced his hand with his mouth for a quick, chaste kiss. "Anything in particular that's prompting this?" he asked and reached across Guillaume to clear the rest of the sofa. 

Guillaume shook his head and moved to help, gathering up stacks of paper and offering them to Amedeo so he could deal with them without creating a mess. "I just wish we could run matters in more efficient ways sometimes. Meetings are necessary, I know that, but sometimes I admit I don't see the point in spending so much time on them."

"You're too polite about it," Amedeo told him. "You need to glower more."

His husband shot him a feeble attempt at a glare, then leaned his head against the back rest of the sofa. "As if that's an option."

"Of course it's an option. Just watch me, I'm going to do a lot of glowering tomorrow, you can observe and learn." He leaned closer, and Guillaume automatically moved to rest against him. 

"I thought you're done already?"

Amedeo petted his hair. "I am, I had my last appointment before our holiday this morning. I poached one of yours."

Guillaume barely managed to muster a frown, and Amedeo seized his chance to manhandle him until he was lying flat on his back, with his legs stretched along the length of the sofa and his head pillowed in Amedeo's lap. 

"Nothing important, love, don't fret. I'm just going to come along to your meeting with the research people tomorrow."

The frown on Guillaume's face deepened, though he seemed unable to keep his eyes open once Amedeo buried a hand in his hair and began to massage his scalp. "What are you up to?"

"Can't I just want to accompany you to one of your appointments as your adoring consort?"

Guillaume merely arched an eyebrow at that. 

"Fine. Marie did a background check and a few things looked odd so I gave her a hand." He gestured at the stacks of print-outs surrounding him. "Turns out that they're being stupid or they failed at being sneaky, I'm not sure yet. So I thought we'd go and play a game of good prince, bad prince."

"Who's the good prince?"

Amedeo snorted and leaned down to peck his forehead. "You need to ask?"

"Point taken. What did they do?"

"Made a mess of the research grants last year and forgot the paperwork. Or embezzled half the funds, take your pick. Either way, they need to sort that out before you attach your name to their projects or it's going to make you look bad once the press stumbles across it." He cradled Guillaume's head in his hands. "I'm not having that."

Guillaume breathed a contented sigh and turned his face against Amedeo's stomach, eyes fluttering shut. "Thank you."

"No need, love. Nobody gets to surprise you with that sort of thing. It's going to be fun tomorrow, just wait for it. Let me be all mean and nasty, and you can be the kind, considerate and understanding Hereditary Grand Duke who'll benevolently let them sort out their issues and forgive them."

"That doesn't seem fair towards you," Guillaume murmured. "They won't like you much."

"Part of the job description, especially if you won't let me be adoring and awed and fawn over you," Amedeo waved off. It had been one of Maxima's more valuable suggestions about his role as prince consort: Guillaume couldn't afford to be too confrontational when he needed to be a unifying force for the country in the future. But Amedeo, protected by his status as consort which would always make him look harmless compared to his husband, could handle such matters for Guillaume without having to worry too much about his public image. It wasn't as if anyone could complain about him watching his husband's back.

"Is there anything I can still help with?" Guillaume asked. 

Amedeo glanced down at him, taking in the shadows under his eyes and the stressed flush to his cheeks. "Don't worry, I've got it covered. Another hour or so, then I'll have the complete picture. I'll give you a summary tomorrow, and you can let me take the lead with it and just follow along. It's better if you stay in the background anyway, you're the one who'll need to work with them in the future."

Guillaume hummed in agreement. "So you think it's salvageable?"

"It's not that bad, they just need to deal with the skeletons in the closet." Amedeo rested his hand on Guillaume's chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breaths. "Don't worry about it. I'll scare and embarrass them, you can calm the down and then you can take me out to dinner afterwards as a reward."

"All planned out. Where?" 

"Colmar, I think. No need to make a public production of it, we only had that coffee on Place du Theatre last week, that should last a little longer."

They were careful to let themselves be seen in unofficial situations a few times a month, to demonstrate that their relationship was solid and to nip any rumours in the bud about any sort of trouble between them. In a country as small as Luxembourg, that was enough to feed the gossip networks, but it also meant that whenever they showed up somewhere, they'd receive more attention than they both wanted to deal with outside of official duties. Colmar was a neutral zone in that regard; the people here were so used to the Grand Ducal family that they could move in relative peace and quiet. 

"Part of your cunning plot to keep me away from my desk tomorrow afternoon?" Guillaume wanted to know. 

Amedeo winked at him. "Would I ever do that?"

"I'm speaking from experience, "Guillaume shot back. 

"Always so suspicious," Amedeo sighed. "As if you'd notice if I were plotting. Not that it would ever cross my mind."

"Of course, never." Guillaume's expression said that he wasn't at all convinced. "You're sure you don't want my help?" he offered again, but didn't sound like he expected to be taken up on it.

"I'm sure. Have a nap, I'll wake you once I'm done." A quick tap of his fingers against Guillaume's chest was enough to get him to roll half onto his side and make himself comfortable, one wrist hooked under Amedeo's knee to steady himself. 

It was as clear an admission as Guillaume would ever allow that he'd reached his limits for the day. If Amedeo had still had any doubts about the need for a vacation, they'd be gone by now. A week with their friends, away from all obligations and public pressure, was definitely in order if Guillaume no longer bothered to pretend that he wasn't exhausted. At the height of summer, it was well-deserved anyway; they hadn't had a real break since winter, and with the whole country practically on holiday, nobody was likely to notice if they were gone for a few days. And if Guillaume still looked this exhausted once they arrived in Monaco, then Wills would surely be willing to do a bit of growling again to make him slow down.

Whatever it was about demonstrations of British displeasure that made Guillaume take note and temporarily back down, Amedeo was more and more grateful for it. He was running out of ideas when it came to making him take better care of himself, and what tactics he'd developed were losing their effect. That Guillaume wasn't growing any younger didn't help either.

One of these days they'd really be in trouble because of it, he thought as he absently combed his fingers through Guillaume's dark hair. He didn't believe for a moment that Guillaume wasn't aware that he was pushing himself well past his limits, but at the same time, that knowledge didn't seem to prompt any instincts for self-preservation. It was as if Guillaume had taken a good look at the present and future expectations placed upon him, and had decided that since he'd be overworked no matter how he dealt with it, he might as well go and set new records. 

Glancing down at his husband, Amedeo smiled when he caught a half-intelligible murmur about not letting him nap for too long. A reassuringly sincere pat was enough to make him settle down again, and that Guillaume actually fell for it just made it easier to decide to ignore the command. 

Amedeo knew about life as a working royal. Ever since he could remember, his parents and grandparents had been constant examples of the benefits and the consequences of essentially handing your life over to a country. The awareness had been enough to make him try and run from all the protocol, pomp and circumstance as much as possible. And at times like this, when he felt completely drained after months of pushing himself and knew that it had to be even worse for Guillaume, he couldn't help wondering whether he shouldn't have stayed away.

It wasn't an option he'd ever have considered in earnest, not when his relationship with Guillaume made it impossible. The price for having the man he loved in his life, he'd long accepted that, and he'd never have been able to force Guillaume to choose between him and doing his duty. And yet he wondered, in quiet moments when they both were barely able to breathe from pressure and exhaustion, whether he could have changed their course if he'd dug in his heels and refused to give in.

The conclusion he arrived at was inevitably the same. If he hadn't been willing to compromise and return to the gilded cage of royal life, he wouldn't have been able to keep Guillaume. His husband had been raised to the complete and utter conviction that as heir, he had no other path in life but to serve as a representative of his country and succeed to the throne eventually. There was no margin for change in there. What willingness and ability Guillaume had to deviate from the course set for him had been used up when he'd presented his future subjects with a husband instead of a wife. 

In hindsight, Amedeo couldn't help wondering how hard that decision had been for him. They'd had time to get used to the idea that it was even possible for them, and they'd had Wills and Carl as proof that it was indeed an option. But there was no denying that in choosing Amedeo, Guillaume had rocked the boat a lot more than anyone would ever have expected of him. He never did well when it came to neglecting his duties - running himself ragged with his appointments and assigned tasks was a shining example of it. Marrying another man was quite a thorough refusal to perform one of the core tasks of the heir to a dynasty.

And yet it had turned out well for them, with general acceptance that the line would continue through Félix' children. There even was an undercurrent in Luxembourg's society that seemed determined to show the rest of the world that having a future Grand Duke with a Prince Consort rather than a Grand Duchess was something to take pride in, rather than be embarrassed about.

It worked because Guillaume had always been viewed as conscientious and well-liked, Amedeo knew, absently stroking his fingertips across his husband's cheek along the line of his beard. People were willing to allow him a bit of eccentricity because he'd always put his duties to his country first, and because he did it in such a painfully honest and sincere fashion that refuse him something that made him genuinely happy would be like kicking a puppy. 

Amedeo knew only too well how impossible it was to deny him something, the rare times he actually asked for it. Guillaume didn't have much of a selfish streak - none of the heirs did, they couldn't afford to - and adding pressure by making too many demands simply wasn't acceptable. There were far too many inevitable demands caused by Guillaume's public role already, so Amedeo did his best to limit his own requests to those necessary to keep his husband sane and healthy. 

Another glance down at Guillaume's face, relaxed with sleep now, and he gathered up the last few print-outs he still needed to work through. Since he'd been the cause for Guillaume taking off in unexpected directions, it was only fair that he did his part in showing that it had not been a bad choice.

***

Two weeks later, Amedeo wasn't entirely certain that participating in the celebrations of the Belgian National Day was entirely legal when you were married to the heir to another throne. But there were legalities, and there were commands issued by his mother. He knew which was the smaller risk.

Maternal commands didn't encompass Guillaume, however, and even if they had, Amedeo wouldn't have brought him along. Too many potential complications on official and unofficial levels he wasn't prepared to deal with. His mother might have come to accept his choices in life, but she was hardly singing his praises about them, and he wasn't about to damage the fragile peace between them by pushing Guillaume into a setting where he didn't formally belong, just to make a point. Having him present for family pictures was one thing, official parades quite another. 

Besides, it probably would only make Grandfather wonder whether Amedeo was subtly attempting to demonstrate his more fiendish intentions by leading his husband along like a prisoner in a Roman-style triumph. Amedeo wasn't sure what to think about being considered a conspiring, plotting mastermind behind the Luxembourgian throne. On the one hand it was flattering, on the other it was simply too weird. So he suffered in heroic solitude, sat with his parents to watch the parade and was bored out of his mind for every moment of it. That they made him wear his uniform, including the hat with the hated plume, didn't do much to improve his mood.

("I don't see why I need to bother with the full get-up," he'd complained to Joachim that morning as they'd both gotten ready. "What am I supposed to do? Grandfather will just think I'm infiltrating the country by seizing command of the troops."

"Are you going to?" Joachim had asked, fiddling with his own puzzle of snaffles and buckles and straps. 

"No!"

"Well, then we might as well make you wear it so I won't be the only one to suffer."

His little brother, Amedeo had decided, had grown far too evil ever since announcing his engagement.)

They made him attend the gala dinner that evening as well, despite his private hope that he'd be spared. But it would have looked strange to prop him up for the parade and then make him vanish again, and so he was shoved into a white tie ensemble and got to practise escorting on Aunt Mathilde, who kept shooting him commiserating smiles throughout.

"You should have brought Guillaume despite all," she said while they waited their turn to be seated. 

"And cause a national crisis because Grandfather muses about my latest imaginary attempt at annexing Luxembourg in front of the cameras? No, better Guillaume stays at home. Félix enlisted him as a babysitter, anyway. It's good for him to have only Lego to worry about for a few hours." As long as Guillaume didn't try again to build models of next day's venue for his appointment (even though Amedeo had to give him credit for creative use of farmyard animals to represent the press).

Mathilde treated him to the sort of kind expression that never boded well when it came from older female relatives.

"Besides," he went on, unable to resist when she was _looking_ at him like that, "it avoids a few other complications as well."

The arrival of the entrée saved him from having to say anything more. Not that he could have. He had no idea how to express his absolute conviction that the tentative situation between his mother, his husband and himself - which hovered somewhere between peace and armistice - only lasted as long as they all didn't cross a few lines. Creating a situation where his mother and Guillaume stood a risk of finding themselves at the same table for breakfast, with no other guests to act as a buffer, was one of those lines. They'd manage to stay perfectly polite, Amedeo had no doubt of that. Just as he didn't doubt that the aftermath would rival the last ice age for sheer frostiness. 

"You'll need to solve this eventually," Mathilde said when they were halfway through the next course. 

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "It works right now." Mostly. As long as they all kept to the areas safely governed by protocol. 

Mathilde's brief frown clearly said that she didn't agree with his assessment, but she mercifully let it slide. "Think about it. You're usually too smart to miss a problem like this."

***  
September 2018  
***

It was an unusual sight that greeted Amedeo after he'd waved his diplomatic passport at the immigration officers at Glasgow airport.

He'd expected Carl to be there to collect him. He hadn't, however, expected to see his friend with his arm immobilised in a sling, though seeing him with a driver in tow was almost the bigger shock.

"Don't even start," Carl growled and moved in for a one-armed hug in greeting, which Amedeo cautiously returned.

Head cocked, Amedeo gave him a pointed once-over. "Having a pleasant time, are we?"

The wordless rumble from Carl was an answer in itself, and the dark glower added plenty of emphasis. Cranky, indubitably, and Amedeo started to understand why Wills had pleaded a sudden change in schedule two days ago that kept him from joining Carl in Scotland for the time being. 

"What did you do?" he asked once they'd reached the car and he could dump his bag into the boot. "Bedroom game gone wrong?"

That earned him a wide-eyed stare from Carl and a raised eyebrow from their driver, but since that was one of Wills and Carl's usual protection officers, Amedeo didn't think it was anything to worry about. This was the same bodyguard who'd accompanied their Anglo-Swedish couple on some of the crazier trips to Monaco, so he had to be hardened against anything causing mental images by now.

"Polo," Carl muttered after a second. "The pony went left. I didn't. And the next thing I know, I'd broken my collar bone."

Amedeo did his best not to laugh. "I could have told you years ago that polo is dangerous," he managed with an almost-straight face, and waved his hand at Carl's arm in its sling. "So how long are you going to have to wear that?"

"Six weeks," Carl said with a sigh and got into the car. The back seat, for possibly the first time since Amedeo had known him. "I can't drive, I can't properly eat, I can't have a shower by myself..."

"Can't put on hair gel?" Amedeo asked. The unusual fluffiness of his friend's dark hair was hard to miss. "Tragic. So get Wills to help you out, why else do you keep him around?"

Carl hesitated, another audible sigh escaping him when the car's engine rumbled to life and they drove off. Then he treated him to a thoroughly exasperated glare. "He fusses."

"Of course he fusses. He cares about you. I'd fuss too if Guillaume ever managed to incapacitate himself like that."

"I know, it's why he shipped you off to Scotland, isn't it?"

Amedeo cocked his head. "I didn't fuss. I offered my assistance in an absolutely objective fashion, and I voiced concerns that he was overdoing it. Which he does, he knows that as well as the rest of us do."

Carl was beginning to look amused. "His side of the story sounds a little different. Andrea bet Wills and me that you'd end up tied and gagged if you didn't ease up."

Amedeo quirked an eyebrow. "Well, depending on the details, you may owe Andrea a forfeit."

"Too much information," Carl told him firmly. "But you must really have driven him to distraction, he was desperate enough to call me when he couldn't catch Wills."

That gave Amedeo pause for thought. Guillaume had relaxed considerably where their friends were concerned, but there were some lines he still didn't like to cross, especially where Carl and Andrea were concerned. And while his attitude had softened towards the Grimaldi heir, he was still painfully restrained and proper around Carl. A phone call was thoroughly unprecedented.

"I can't have irritated him that much," he said. 

Carl was openly grinning by now. "It's not like you've got an official reason to be here, is it?"

"There's that research sheep thing..."

"Which none of you would usually have bothered with, even if it's a Luxembourgian company." Carl reached out to clumsily pat his shoulder. "Face it, you've been sent to Scotland to cool your heels and count sheep for a few days. Might as well use it as a break, don't tell me you couldn't use one."

Amedeo sighed. "I'm not the one in danger of running head-first into burn-out."

Carl rolled his eyes. "No, but you're merrily chasing after him. Take a break, let him do whatever he thinks he needs to deal with, and then go drag him away in two or three days."

It was sound advice, but that didn't mean that Amedeo had to like it. Still, he was reasonable enough to see that sulking wouldn't get him anywhere, not when he couldn't make his displeasure known to his husband by anything more direct than a phone call. 

He nonetheless gave it a try that evening, more to make a point than in the hopes of actually achieving anything. Guillaume simply waved away his concerns, Amedeo delivered a few more admonishments about considering more sleep and less caffeine, and they both left it at that. He wasn't sure when they'd reached a point where they had a routine argument in which they both knew their roles by heart. Perhaps it was better than disagreeing over new matters all the time.

"Stop fretting," Carl told him next morning over breakfast. "He isn't a toddler you can't leave to fend for himself. As if anything's going to happen to him."

"He's off to Russia again since this morning," Amedeo grumbled into his cappuccino. "Conference in Moscow, with the Tsesarevich."

"And he didn't take you along for that?"

Amedeo heaved a sigh. "I may have implied that if that pesky Hohenzollern grand prince and I ever cross paths, I might not stay perfectly friendly."

The noise Carl produced sounded suspiciously like a suppressed laugh. "Not perfectly friendly?"

"He doesn't make it easy in any way." And Amedeo hadn't made any actual threats or mentioned plans. It still was enough to make Guillaume claim to want to be safe rather than sorry, and no matter how sneaky Amedeo had been over the past months, he hadn't managed to get himself added to the roster for the current diplomatic mission. Irritating, highly irritating, especially when he knew that the one doing the thwarting was Guillaume himself but couldn't prove it.

"So he exiled you? But be happy, at least he gave you pretend work so no-one will wonder."

"I've got to cut ribbons," Amedeo murmured. "And pet sheep."

"Luxembourgian sheep," Carl pointed out cheerfully. "It's not like I can go and pet them for you, that would be an international incident."

Which it almost was anyway, what with Amedeo performing royal duties on what was essentially enemy soil. It was a good thing that Queen Elizabeth didn't object to having random foreign royalty around, or he'd have been in trouble. Inaugurating new laboratories for Luxembourgian companies and their agricultural research departments was all right and proper, but doing so in Scotland was somewhat delicate. 

"You can always come along and chaperon me," he suggested. 

Carl waved off, not surprisingly. "I'm doing press evasion. They haven't worked out yet that I'm injured, and we're trying to keep it that way. It's so much simpler if my collarbone isn't suddenly of nationwide interest. You'll have to go and smooch your sheep without me."

"But that's boring. Come along, you need to keep yourself busy until Wills is back. What is it he abandoned you for, anyway? He wouldn't say on the phone."

Carl shrugged, his expression turning oddly blank. "He had another appointment to keep for now. And he's got a spell of SAR duty coming up in a few days."

It wasn't hard to notice that the details here were best left alone. He'd simply ask Andrea at the next opportunity, or see whether Guillaume knew something, unlikely as it was. "Even more reason to help me with the sheep. That should be easy for you, you've got your agriculture degree, surely a few lambs can't be difficult."

Despite Amedeo's best attempts, Carl refused to change his mind about that. A shame, truly; performing for the adoring masses (or, in this case, twenty researchers and two photographers) was always much more fun when there was another player to trade jokes with. So Amedeo simply went through the day on his best behaviour as a royal representative and learned about sheep and Scotland and genetics and cloning and far more details of ovine reproduction than he'd ever wanted to know.

If anyone had told him ten years ago that he'd attend opening ceremonies of Luxembourgian sheep research stations in his capacity as the hereditary grand ducal prince consort, he wouldn't have believed them. And would have insisted on a better job title, at the very least.

"Your own fault for not demanding something simpler," Carl told him that evening, handing him a jacket that looked like it might belong to Wills. "Look at Andrea, he figured out that he needed to deal with those name issues in time. Put that on, your shirt isn't going to cut it in the rain."

Amedeo heroically resisted the urge to mention royal nursemaids. "Andrea didn't seem too happy about it when he told us, though. It makes sense for him to call himself Grimaldi rather than Casiraghi, but I don't think he likes it." Not that Amedeo could blame his friend for that. It was a more than blatant sign that dynastic considerations had taken over his life.

"It's not the only thing he isn't happy about, either," Carl said as he shoved him out the door and into a full-blown gale. Much to Amedeo's irritation, he insisted to call it a mild drizzle. 

"That much is obvious." Amedeo wrapped his arms around himself and ducked his head against the rain, wondering what he'd done to deserve this. "He'll have his hands full if he has to take over in the next few years." 

"He's convinced he'll have to." 

"In that case, he's doomed. I don't know if you've noticed, but the Grimaldis aren't on anyone's list of welcome guests anymore. Politically speaking, he's not going to have a lot of capital left by the time it's his turn." He should have brought proper boots, Amedeo realised. Dress shoes and muddy dirt tracks didn't go that well together. He also shouldn't have agreed to come along to collect the horses for the night. A clear oversight. Carl's horses, Carl's problem, especially in torrential downpours. 

"We all went to his wedding," Carl pointed out. He didn't seem to care one whit about the rain, but then again, he was Swedish. Anything short of a blizzard probably qualified as acceptable weather. "And to Stefano's christening."

"That was for him personally, everybody could pretend that it was about Andrea and Tatiana, or about the family of Princess Caroline, she's still a proper royal highness. Did you attend Albert's birthday jubilee this year?"

Carl grimaced. "No."

"Neither did we. Or anyone else on the royal circuit who matters." That comment earned him an amused huff, and he grinned in response. "Face it, we're important, all of us. We're almost role models."

Carl cracked up at that.

"I'll just pretend you don't find that a laughing matter. We're properly serious and full of gravitas, surely you know that?"

Carl had almost calmed down again, then took one look at Amedeo and was practically bent over with laughter immediately. 

Amedeo put on his best scowl and waited.

"Sorry, it's just... "

"Are you suggesting we're anything but prim and proper royals?"

By now, Carl had managed to limit himself to chuckles. "You're one to talk," he gasped. "Prim and proper. The only one who can possibly pull that off is Guillaume, the rest of us are completely hopeless and you know it."

Hand on heart, Amedeo sighed theatrically. "You wound me."

"I'd call you a crazy Habsburg, but that's Andrea's line. Seriously - you think he's in trouble?"

Amedeo glanced at him as they paused at a gate and he waited for Carl to fiddle with the lock. "Don't you?"

"You and Guillaume are far more official than Wills and I are, you'd have a better idea. I can tell that Andrea isn't confident about it, but the British court is limiting its contacts to the continental monarchies at the best of times, you know that. Monaco might as well not exist as far as Buckingham Palace is concerned."

"Point taken." Amedeo thought for a moment, looking for the best way to put it all into words. "Monaco relies a lot more on goodwill than anyone else, and they're losing that. Who'd want to be seen with Albert? Guillaume and I are careful about it every time we're in Monaco, it's been an actual warning we got from Uncle Henri about it all. If we're photographed with Andrea, it doesn't matter, he's still a private person. But Monaco... they're more and more isolated, and Albert doesn't make any moves to counter that. Andrea's going to be stuck in a corner once he is Prince, and it's going to be tough for him to get out of there again. He'll have to rebuild Monaco's reputation from scratch."

Carl nodded. "That's what it looked like to me, too. So are you and Guillaume going to help?"

Amedeo quirked an eyebrow. "Help with what? Keeping Andrea from going crazy? We're about twenty years too late for preventing him from turning into a basket case, if you ask me."

"Takes one to know one," Carl said serenely. "Public support once he is on the throne and it actually makes sense. Private support whenever he needs it."

"Which means now. We're at a point where Guillaume helps out whenever they're doing official representing together."

Carl blinked. "He does?"

"Don't look so surprised, Guillaume is nice, he wouldn't stand by and watch Andrea suffer."

Carl looked sceptical at that, but wisely didn't say anything. Instead, he gave a loud whistle, and Amedeo thought he could hear horses somewhere ahead of them. 

"So we help," he said, shivering as the wind picked up for a moment. Damned Scottish weather. "Have you got any plans yet?"

Carl winked at him. "I do, but I expect you'd rather hear them once we're back at the cottage."

Amedeo pointedly hunched his shoulders and ducked his head against the drizzle. "Very perceptive of you."

***

"Still at work?" Amedeo asked when he stopped by the open door of Guillaume's study and found him - predictably - still fiddling with files. At least he'd decided to do it at home, where he could be supervised and nagged when necessary. Possibly a concession when he'd so rudely exiled Amedeo to Scotland for the past week. 

Guillaume looked up from the folder he'd been sorting through. "Just checking the notes on my last trip to Finland, Yuri asked for recommendations for contacts."

"Yuri." It took an effort not to show how he was less than happy about Guillaume doing the Russian tsesarevich a favour. Pesky Hohenzollern brat. 

"What _is_ it that gets your hackles up about him? You've never even met him. And you like the vodka he sends."

Amedeo aimed for his best haughty expression. "I don't like him. He distracts you when you've got enough to deal with already. And besides, he's a Hohenzollern, he can't possibly be up to anything good."

Guillaume blinked. Then his lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile. "Don't tell me you're jealous."

"I'm not jealous, it's a perfectly normal dynastic objection. I can't have my husband cavorting with a Hohenzollern. Or a Romanov, for that matter."

"And that from you. Do you want to imagine what Andrea would have to say if he could hear you right now?"

Amedeo suspected it wold begin with 'crazy Habsburg' and go downhill from there. "He'd be on my side for this. I'm sure his mother has warned him about the tsesarevich."

Leaning back in his chair, Guillaume now looked genuinely confused. "Whatever has Yuri done?"

"He takes up your time when there are far more important matters," Amedeo gestured vaguely. "And you never let me come along when you are in Russia."

The look Guillaume gave him was somewhere between amused and exasperated. "Because you're bristling enough whenever he's mentioned that it doesn't sound like a safe option. If it's reassuring in any way, Yuri has said more than once that he'd like to get to know you."

"Of course he would," Amedeo muttered.

"If it helps, I can refuse the vodka from now on."

Amedeo hesitated. It _was_ the good stuff. 

Guillaume heaved a sigh and got up from his chair. A few swift steps and he'd crossed the room, that fond expression in his eyes that always made Amedeo melt just a little bit. "Stop being an idiot," he said, reaching out to draw Amedeo down into a kiss. "As if he were in any way comparable to you."

"Flatterer," Amedeo grumbled. 

"Merely the truth. What on Earth would I do with anyone but you? Lack of interest aside, it's not as if you leave me any reason to go looking. The only thing I'd ever get out of an affair that I don't get at home is a peaceful place to work." Guillaume frowned at him. "That was a joke, by the way."

"I know you wouldn't, you've got far too good taste to go for a Hohenzollern," Amedeo conceded. "But still... I don't like it. I don't like _him_."

"Why?"

Amedeo sighed. "Because he gets to occupy your time. And yes, I realise how this sounds, but I don't care."

He strongly suspected that behind that carefully blank expression, Guillaume was hiding a laugh. 

"Poor Amedeo," his husband told him, then tugged him down into another kiss, this one far more inspired than the first. Inspired enough to get them out of the study and down the hallway into their bedroom, clothes getting discarded along the way, though Guillaume insisted on tidily folding them.

It was intended as a distraction, Amedeo knew, and part of him balked at letting himself be manipulated like that. But other parts didn't give a damn about principles and instead were far more intrigued by the evening's suddenly far more intimate prospects. Token reluctance, just to make a point about not giving in too easily (hard to remember when Guillaume was up to highly distracting gropes), then Amedeo threw all thoughts of reservation to the wind. Waste not, want not, and Guillaume had gotten far too good over the years at knowing which buttons to push.

"Don't think I'm letting you head off to Russia by yourself next time," he growled against the crook of his husband's neck, punctuating the announcement with a sharp nip. No official engagements for the next two days, no danger of photographers catching sight of a love bite, and Amedeo intended to take full advantage of that. 

"Just what, exactly, do you think I'm doing there?" Guillaume shot back, tilting his head to bare his neck as he played along. "Conduct a wild affair?"

Amedeo looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "Are you?"

Guillaume shot him a searching glance, then apparently decided to take it for the joke it was. "Like I could satisfy you and have an affair at the same time."

"Maybe you got adventurous?" he suggested with a grin. "Decided that you want to try something we don't usually do..."

"Amedeo, if this is about the riding crops..."

He pretended to sigh with disappointment and threw a pointed look at the chest of drawers in the corner, where they kept certain things safely under lock and key to spare the cleaning staff the embarrassment. "You'll never let me talk you into that, will you?" 

"Not in the foreseeable future," and there was enough genuine protest behind Guillaume's words to make it plain this was not up for discussion. Which suited Amedeo just fine; those toys had been part of Andrea's prank gifts over the years, but neither of them cared enough about venturing in that direction to bother. Still it seemed impolite to return them.

"I assume that rules out the whips as well," he murmured with an exaggerated sigh. "Tragic."

"Very," Guillaume agreed dryly, his left hand coming up to pet Amedeo's hair for a moment before settling at the nape of his neck. "Anything else I can tempt you with?" he asked before bringing their heads together for a kiss. "I wouldn't want you to get bored."

Amedeo winked at him. "Don't worry, there's no danger of that," he assured him, gathering momentum to roll them and put himself on top, weight carefully balanced. "But if you're up to giving something new a try..."

"I know you too well to just say yes to that," Guillaume told him, relaxing into the pillows and drawing him down.

"You wound me," Amedeo protested as he happily went along, one knee settling not quite accidentally between Guillaume's thighs. 

"I've had you in my bed for seven years, the innocent approach won't work anymore." Another kiss, distracting enough for Amedeo not to bother with a verbal reply. Instead he stretched to get the lube bottle from the nightstand, leaving it within easy reach. Guillaume watched the move with plenty of amusement in his eyes. "So, plans? Or is it just a new flavour we're trying?"

Amedeo quirked an eyebrow. "Not after you vetoed the sparkly stuff. I'm not risking that sort of interruption again." Shifting, he let his fingertips trail down Guillaume's side, then inwards at an insistent buck of his husband's hips. For a few seconds he lingered, then the opportunity to tease proved to be too tempting to resist and he turned his touches more deliberate. 

A contented moan, then Guillaume frowned up at him. "You're plotting. I can tell."

The smile on Amedeo's face was one of sheer innocence ."Well, love..." he said, sliding his hand between Guillaume's legs, not quite managing to keep the gesture from being tentative. They'd given switching a few tries before, though not very successfully. Amedeo blamed this mostly on the fact that, just like with shower sex, they tended to go for it when exhausted or half drunk. Or both, which really wasn't a recipe for success.

It took Guillaume a moment to catch on, his expression going from puzzled to surprised to curious. "What's brought that on?" he asked, letting his legs drop open willingly enough.

Amedeo smirked down at him and reached for the lube bottle, thinking of Russian tsesarevichs and other obstacles big and small, of the fact that Guillaume was his and how much he loved this man. "Oh, nothing in particular."

  
***  
August 2020  
***

As royal weddings went, this one was almost as nerve-wrecking as Amedeo's own had been. Back then he'd been so overwhelmed with the simple knowledge that he was allowed to go through with it all that he hadn't really had time to think. This time, he was in the middle of it all as the brother of the groom and as best man, and for some reason everybody appeared to look at him for instructions and guidance. It didn't help that Guillaume was handling it all with his usual calm competence.

"Stop fidgeting," Maria Laura told him sternly as they sat in the front row of the cathedral and waited for mass to begin. A church wedding, all properly done for once with no pregnant brides or controversial couples. It almost seemed like a novelty. "You'll mess up your uniform and then Alexandra will kill you."

"Very reassuring," he murmured back. "I hope she's got other things to focus on."

Maria Laura chuckled. "Yes, our dear baby brother. Let's hope he survives the wedding and doesn't try to run."

"As though she'd let him." Leaning forward, Amedeo tried to see whether he could catch a glimpse of Guillaume, over on the other side of the cathedral's main nave with the rest of the Luxembourgian royal family. Amedeo's own spot had been hotly debated when the seating charts had been drawn up, until his grandmother had put her foot down and declared that he'd better sit on the Belgian side for the day if he didn't want to find himself in trouble. Wisely, he'd not bothered to argue.

It didn't come as much of a surprise that Guillaume was in deep conversation with Mette-Marit, conveniently seated right behind him in the next pew. Compensation for the impossibility of getting her as his companion for the evening; as the brother of the bride, he'd been conscripted for family duties today. If only Maria Laura hadn't been so uncooperative when Amedeo had suggested a switch of escorts so she could have Anna while he got Guillaume back... Little sisters simply made life so much more complicated at times. Not that he truly minded, but he hadn't actually seen much of his husband over the past two weeks, once the last frenzy of wedding preparations had taken over. Actually sitting down with him for dinner and being able to exchange more than two words in passing would have been nice.

The church wedding went according to plan, thanks to all the preparation with quasi military precision. Habsburg weddings always did, and Amedeo had no doubt that Andrea would just interpret it as yet another sign of attempts to build an empire through successful marriages. 

He wasn't the only one to harbour such suspicions, unfortunately. 

"Does King Albert still think you're trying to sneakily annex Luxembourg to Belgium?" Máxima wanted to know from the row behind him.

Amedeo turned around, ducking his head just in time to avoid smacking himself in the face with the huge feathery something she was wearing as a hat. "He's convinced that it's all a long con. First I married Guillaume to ensure he wouldn't have heirs, now Joachim marries Alexandra because she's the first woman in the succession."

"You'd have to get rid of Felix for that to work," Máxima pointed out, looking far too amused.

Amedeo shrugged. "Honestly? I didn't dare ask what Grandfather thinks we're plotting there."

Máxima patted his shoulder reassuringly. "As long as he doesn't mention it to anyone..."

He shot her a desperate smile. "He's talked to Uncle Henri about it."

Now she was definitely laughing at him. "And how did that go?"

"Let's just say it was one of the weirder conversations I've had in my life." Fortunately his father-in-law had seen the humour in the situation. A century or two ago, Amedeo would have been summarily divorced and shipped back home post-haste at that sort of revelation. Four centuries ago, they'd probably have beheaded him first, just to be safe.

One day, people would finally believe him when he said he had no interest whatsoever in ruling a country. He had no idea where this obsession came from; just because he'd been de facto heir to Philippe for the first half of his life hardly meant that he wanted to go back to that sort of situation. Quite the opposite; he still felt he'd dodged a bullet there.

At least he was thoroughly dynastically expendable now that Joachim was bound to start hatching little archdukes with Alexandra soon. Plenty of cousins, nieces and nephews everywhere to shore up the lines of succession in all directions, so no-one looked askance anymore at him for not doing his part. 

The church ceremony and the following formal dinner went off without a hitch, and Amedeo felt marginally less on edge once the actual party started and people began to relax. 

"Now we just need to keep Frederik out of the fish pond," Guillaume muttered by his side once they'd retreated into a corner to catch their breaths for a few minutes before they had to go back and mingle. 

"Luisa promised she'll keep an eye on him." Leaning closer, Amedeo caught himself before he could make any inappropriate moves. He wanted a kiss, quite badly, but there still were too many old-fashioned royal relatives around for him to dare. 

Catching on, Guillaume quirked a smile at him. "Behave," he murmured.

Amedeo rolled his eyes. "Then stop looking so tempting," he shot back. "Do you think anyone would notice if we vanished?"

"Don't even think about it."

He sighed. "I'm not. Not really. But you've got to admit that it would be more relaxing than the rest of this party is going to be. I've had two Bourbons and one Romanov already who complained that we didn't consider one of their girls for Joachim."

Guillaume frowned at that. "Nobody's said anything like that to me."

"Because you're not of a dynasty known for being smart about marriage. Besides, you've only got one unmarried brother left. I've still got three sisters, that's the better bartering position by far." He paused. "Theoretically speaking, that is."

"They'll tar and feather you if you even think about setting them up with someone." Guillaume turned away from him for a few seconds to survey the room, but it seemed there wasn't anything going on that demanded his attention. Amedeo had long decided that he wouldn't bother interfering with anything less than the Savoy relations getting up to physical violence again.

"I'm sure they can fend for themselves," he agreed. 

"Indubitably. And I'm sure they have good taste."

Amedeo quirked an eyebrow. "Just like their brothers," he teased, chuckling when Guillaume ducked his head. "Take the compliment, love, you deserve it. You know I'd never have settled for anyone but the best."

That brought a hint of a blush to Guillaume's cheeks, as always. Amedeo had worked on flattering him in public for years now, but he still hadn't figured out how to react. It also meant that he was momentarily flustered enough that Amedeo could safely get away with a peck to his cheek.

"No rumpling," Guillaume demanded, obediently holding still. "I've still got to do a speech later."

Amedeo pretended to sigh and reached to straighten the collar of his husband's dress uniform, letting his fingers linger against bare skin for just a moment. "Fine. I'll just rumple you later."

The blush deepened, and Amedeo spent the next few minutes with teasing banter, careful to keep it mild enough to distract from the day's stress, but not cause any tension on top of it all.

They'd just settled into a calm enough mindset to deal with the rest of the festivities when all Amedeo's efforts were ruined within a moment. 

"Mama," he greeted his mother, doing his best not to let caution slip into his voice. By his side, Guillaume immediately tensed, the small signs easy to spot for anyone who knew him well enough.

It had been years since the last negative comment they had received from her where their relationship was concerned. There even had been supportive gestures whenever the situation had called for them. But despite all that, it still felt more like an armistice than anything else. Amedeo's mother had had plans for him, and seeing him marry another man hadn't been part of them. He couldn't shake the impression that even now, she was hiding regrets whenever their paths crossed, though she'd never say anything about it anymore. 

"Are you two hiding?" she asked, eyebrows arched in the sort of expression that made him feel like he were five and about to be told to behave himself as befitted his station.

"Merely taking a break," Guillaume told her before Amedeo could open his mouth. "We know we mustn't be found missing."

Amedeo's mother nodded with approval. "Good, just keep that in mind. We will move to the ballroom in about twenty minutes, until then you can stay to the sidelines as long as you're seen. But don't wander off."

"How many female relatives have you signed me up for?" Amedeo wanted to know. One of the side effects of being in a gay partnership: he didn't normally get to dance with Guillaume until both of them had more than a glass or two of wine. Instead, their services were evenly distributed among the more eager of their female relations. 

"Oh, just a few. You will have to handle Mary, so I thought you'd want a break afterwards."

He didn't bother to hide his answering grimace. 

"We had to assign someone to her for a waltz, and Guillaume didn't seem like a smart choice."

"Only because she still thinks he snubbed her," Amedeo muttered. By his side, he heard an answering sigh from his husband. 

"I can attempt to apologize..."

"Never," Amedeo's mother said firmly. 

They both blinked at her. 

"My son-in-law will not pander to that woman's misguided ideas of her grandeur," she declared. "Amedeo will deal with her, that will satisfy the requirements and you can and will both ignore her after that. This is a family wedding, I won't have anyone intrude."

A family wedding and a state occasion for two countries, but Amedeo didn't bother to point that out. Royal weddings always were tricky in that regard, and this one was no exception, just like his own hadn't been.

"Anyone else we need to be careful about?" he asked instead. 

"The usual suspects," his mother said. "I must say, it is very practical that the guest list is almost identical to your wedding. The second time around, it's much easier to predict who may cause trouble. It's almost a repeat performance."

With a few notable exceptions, like the fact that this time the mother of the groom didn't wear an expression more suited to a funeral. 

Something of that must have shown on his face, because he felt Guillaume's hand settle at the crook of his elbow in wordless reassurance. His mother, too, shot him a look that was impossible to read. 

"Glad to have been of service," he muttered. "So we've been the dress rehearsal for the wedding that really matters."

"Amedeo," Guillaume murmured, a clear note of warning in his voice which he chose to ignore.

"What? You should be happy, there's something useful about our marriage after all."

"Amedeo." Again his name, but this time in a tone that had made him pay attention for thirty years and more even when he hadn't wanted to hear it. 

He shot his mother a look that was just short of belligerent. Too many issues between them which they hadn't dealt with, and together with today's stress and tension, he wasn't in the mood to be particularly diplomatic. 

"Surely you cannot think that is the only value I see in you and Guillaume," she said.

"I'm certain we've got redeeming qualities. But Joachim and Alexandra must make it so much less complicated. All conventional and easy to approve of, just as it's supposed to be, so no-one has to worry about gossip and controversy and successions." By his side, Guillaume murmured his name again, but he paid it no heed. "Is it nice to finally have a son who isn't being complicated and contrary?"

His mother stared at him for a second, blinked, shook her head and said, "When have you ever not been complicated? As if we'd really expect anything else from you."

He shot her a humorless smile. "My apologies for that."

"As if you'd ever apologise for making your own rules." She paused. "You know that I'm proud of your brother and Alexandra. Just as I'm proud of you and Guillaume now."

"Now," he repeated, eyebrows raised. 

The expression on her face was suddenly one of barely veiled amusement. "Hearing that you were going to marry another man was more difficult to come to terms with than finding out that you'd run off to attend university under another name." She sighed. "I wanted an easier path in life for you. There is enough pressure already on anyone who's born into a royal family, and I didn't think it was a good idea to add to it by doing something so unconventional."

"It's been his choice to make," Guillaume said quietly. "If I could have made it any easier..."

Amedeo turned to look at him. "You did. I knew what I was getting into, and I know you've been pulling strings left and right to help. In case I haven't told you often enough, it's been worth it. I'm not giving you up just because someone thinks I should. You're stuck with me."

"I wouldn't want it any other way," Guillaume said, then cleared his throat and returned his attention to Amedeo's mother again. "You have my word that I'm doing my best to keep him safe and happy."

Amedeo rolled his eyes. "Love, it's a bit late to ask her for my hand, you've had me in your bed for almost ten years now. That ship has definitely sailed."

"Perhaps we should negotiate compensation," his mother suggested. "So you can redeem yourself for despoiling my son without permission."

Guillaume looked thoroughly mortified at that, and Amedeo had mercy upon him. Dealing with his mother was never easy even when one was used to her occasionally peculiar sense of humor. 

"Don't give him ideas, he's proper enough to take you up on them and I don't want to find out what you two agree on as appropriate recompense."

His mother cocked her head. "I'm sure he'd have been willing to pay a decent price for you. Surely you must be worth it."

"He is," Guillaume hurriedly assured them both, quick enough to bring a smile to Amedeo's face. 

"Thank you, that's reassuring to know. So I'm not just a cause for trouble?"

Guillaume blinked up at him. "Now who's fishing for compliments? You aren't the only one who only settled for the best."

If only they didn't have an immediate audience right now... Sighing inwardly, Amedeo firmly told himself to behave, and heroically resisted all impulses to try for a quick snog. His mother might be in a mellow mood right now, but it was safer not to risk crossing the line. 

"Very flattering," he drawled instead. "I'll let you kiss me later on."

The expression on Guillaume's face clearly said that his husband didn't consider that a particularly rewarding activity. Less the kissing itself and more the attention it brought to them whenever they did it in public, Amedeo knew, and he'd long given up to view the matter as anything more than potential for teasing.

"You should," his mother said unexpectedly. 

They both looked at her, and Amedeo was sure that the confused caution in Guillaume's eyes mirrored his own. "I beg your pardon?" he tried. 

"Kiss," she explained with an impatient wave of her hand. "It _is_ a wedding, it's a condoned activity."

"Not for all couples." Amedeo's tone was sharper than intended, but he made no move to correct it. "I'm not in the mood for the sort of attention it would get us." From some of the guests, from the photographers who'd just love such an opportunity, and from his mother right in front of them. "We'll leave the kissing to Joachim and Alexandra, it's their day for it."

Closing her eyes for a moment, his mother drew an audible breath and he braced himself for whatever might come. Not another argument, he hoped. He didn't want to have to deal with that, not today of all days.

What she said, however, wasn't what he'd expected. "I've never apologized that your wedding was not as it could have been, have I?"

There was no safe answer to this, so Amedeo didn't even try to aim for a comforting lie. "No."

She held his gaze and gave a decisive nod, and the gesture was enough to make his heart sink until she continued, "In that case, let me do it now."

He blinked. By his side, Guillaume gave a quiet hum of surprise.

"You're my son. I want you to be happy, like all my children. If that means that you'll turn a few traditions upside down and live with Guillaume, so be it as long as it is what you want to do. I should have said this years ago, but..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "So much could have gone wrong."

"I know," he said quietly. 

"Do you? I'm not sure. But it doesn't matter anymore, does it? You two are a good match, that much is obvious after all this time. I can only hope that it's going to turn out this well for Joachim and Alexandra, too."

"It will," he offered. "They know what they're getting into, and they'll have plenty of support."

Again she sighed. "Which I didn't give you. I truly am sorry for that."

"Mama..." It was impossible to find the right words. Years of first outright rejection and then an uneasy truce, and now such a change to her perspective? It almost seemed too good to be true. 

"You've made a good choice," she went on. "I'm proud of you. Both of you."

He could only stare at her in wide-eyed amazement, leaning down automatically when she moved close to kiss his cheek. After a moment, she let go of him again and repeated the gesture with Guillaume, who looked more surprised than Amedeo could remember seeing him for a long time.

"Guillaume, don't let him drive you crazy," his mother commanded in a low voice, just loud enough to let him catch it.

For another second he struggled to comprehend her words and what they meant. Then he stepped forward and caught her in a tight hug with no regard for the danger of rumpling her flowing evening gown. 

"Thank you," he murmured into her hair. 

Her hand came up to pat his shoulder. "You made the right decision. I'm sorry I did not see it sooner."

"As long as you see it now. He's who I want in my life. I couldn't wish for anyone better."

Another pat to his shoulder. "Well, if you say so, far be it from me to argue with his perfection."

Over her shoulder, Amedeo saw Guillaume blush as he listened, and gave him a quick wink which was, much to his delight, returned almost immediately. "You raised me to always push for the best and accept no compromises."

"That advice was intended more about your own achievements," his mother said, taking a half-step back. "Are you happy?"

He looked into her eyes and saw the sincere affection, along with the acceptance he'd waited for. Acceptance for him and Guillaume, for their choices in life, and he knew the relief on his husband's face was mirrored on his own. A spot of movement halfway across the room caught his attention for a second and he saw Wills, Carl and Andrea standing together while pretending not to keep an eye on what was going on. Their friends, ready to lend a hand or stage a daring rescue, just in case. 

"Yes," he told her with a heartfelt smile. "I am."


End file.
